Reflections
by Fleuramis
Summary: Worry, anxiety, panic, despair war within our Musketeers' hearts as they fear for the life of one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

Reflections

Athos sat by Aramis' bedside, his brother's hand held securely in his. It had been four days, and there had been no sign yet of his regaining consciousness. They were now beginning to panic at the thought that he might never do so.

The tears filled his eyes yet again. He couldn't lose his dear friend.

The whole situation still made no sense to any of them. Why was Aramis kidnapped, held captive and tortured repeatedly for almost a month? Why had he been starved? From the condition of his emaciated body and extremely dry skin, he had to have only been given barely enough food and water just to keep him alive.

They had found him in a cold, dank cellar in a farmhouse just outside of Paris, lying bound and gagged cruelly tight on the dirty floor. He had tried to curl in on himself, something he often did when sick or injured. But the way in which he had been restrained prevented him from doing so fully. The marks of the horror he had been put through had been abundantly clear when they had carried him into the light of day.

Athos saw Aramis' face scrunch up in pain again, and reached a hand up to thread gently through his brother's hair. Aramis was a very tactile person, and especially needed touch when injured or ill, usually bringing comfort to him even when he wasn't conscious. Athos couldn't even begin to imagine how much pain he must be in. Another spasm of pain must have happened, as his face twisted again, his mouth opening in a silent cry. What they had done to him seemed to have taken away his ability to make any sound. Athos hoped against hope that it would be a temporary loss. He continued giving comfort, now tracing circles on the back of his brother's hand in gentle movements. It took a while, but Aramis finally seemed to calm down once more, the muscles relaxing in his face again.

Athos glanced over at Porthos and d'Artagnan, both asleep in the cots Treville had finally ordered brought in. Even then, all three of them had protested when he also ordered them to take turns between being at Aramis' bedside and sleeping, but eventually understood his reasoning. If they exhausted themselves and made themselves sick because of it, how would that help Aramis? But it didn't mean they had to like it. Athos insisted on first watch over their protests, too.

Aramis had been missing for so long, their frantic searching availing them no leads whatsoever. The whole regiment had combed the streets and alleys of Paris. No one had seen or heard anything, no clues had turned up, no ransom demands, nothing. Why had he been taken? Was it a revenge vendetta against Aramis? What had he done? Or rather, what did they think he had done that would make someone want to do something like this?

He ran a hand shakily through his hair. How long could his brother survive without proper food? They had been able to coax him to swallow small amounts of water, even unconscious, and once even a bit of broth. But he needed far more than he had taken in if he was to survive. He corrected himself-not if, never if. He would survive, he had to.

Aramis was always the one taking care of them. He was constantly honing his medic skills, reading anything he could get his hands on that might help him in any kind of situation they found themselves in. But it availed them nothing when the tables were turned. They all knew basic emergency combat first aid, but what had been done to Aramis far exceeded any skills they had in that area. The Parisian doctors seemed all to be overloaded with patients since the virulent flu outbreak a week ago. They were on their own at the worst time imaginable.

Aramis was so precious to him, to all of them. He remembered how he had grown to know and love the Musketeer all the ladies of Paris seemed to love.

Athos had been new to the Musketeers, Treville having commissioned the former comte once he had known about his background and brilliance with a sword. But Athos kept to himself, performing his duties with precision. But when his duties were over, he would disappear every night. No one in the garrison knew where he went. No one except Aramis, that is.

Aramis had seen the new Musketeer leave the garrision every evening, and curious, had followed him. Athos remembered the night well. Hat pulled down low over his face, he had entered the tavern and found a table at the back of the room. He had ordered a drink, and was waiting for it to arrive.

Then, a shadow darkened the table. Surprised, he had looked up to see the handsome Musketeer smiling down at him as he took a seat. Frowning, he said, "I do not need company."

Aramis continued smiling, and said, "You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, my friend. Would you allow me to share your evening with you? We do not have to converse if you would rather not."

Since he hadn't replied, Aramis had taken that as a 'yes', ordered a drink and made himself comfortable. He kept up a steady stream of talk even when Athos hadn't uttered more than a word now and then. Athos couldn't remember a word Aramis had said that evening, but he smiled at the memory. Aramis could be very persistent when he wanted to be.

Athos remembered the evening well. The barmaid had come over every once in a while to see if they wanted another drink, and every time her eyes were only for Aramis. She batted her eyelashes at him, and her hand occasionally strayed to his shoulder, where she would let it rest, softly rubbing a finger against the leather. Athos hadn't known Aramis well then, but he came to find that many women were very attracted to him, and he seemed to enjoy their attention, engaging in light flattery with them which only served to increase their attention, like moths to a flame.

At the end of the evening, when Athos had imbibed too much in the way of drinks (but not as much as he would have alone, Aramis saw to that very discreetly), Aramis gently assisted him out of his seat over his half-hearted protests, and escorted him out of the tavern and back to the garrison with a firm hold around his waist. He opened Athos' door, and waited until the now-drowsy man stumbled his way over the threshold before softly closing it behind him.

This accompaniment continued several times a week for some time afterward. They got to know each other, Athos gradually opening up a little under Aramis' skillful nudging. Despite himself, Athos began looking for the affable Musketeer to come through whatever tavern door he had chosen that night.

It continued until he didn't show up for several days, not being seen around the garrison either. Athos' heart was saddened, for in spite of himself, he had grown to like his new companion. He didn't know what he had done to finally drive him away.

It wasn't until he reported for duty one morning that the news was announced to the Musketeers. Treville, his head hanging in sorrow, told them that the training mission led by Aramis to Savoy had been attacked, and everyone massacred. Athos just stood still, stunned. Not Aramis! Not the gregarious, outgoing, full-of-life man who he had been, despite himself, starting to genuinely like and enjoy spending time with . This couldn't be happening.

But it was.

It turned out that Aramis, alone among Musketeer bodies, was found alive. But Athos still remembered the difference in the man he called friend. He was silent, not interested in anything, like he had given up hope. He showed no interest in anything around him. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was almost a mumble said with his head hanging down and no eye contact. His injuries had slowly healed, but his heart and his mind had not. He seemed to be still living in the nightmare of the massacre, and no one seemed to be able to get through to him.

Athos began to try to draw Aramis out, as Aramis had done for him. He became just as persistent in working to get Aramis interested in life again. But nothing seemed to work. He was at his wit's end, but finally, something totally unexpected gave him an opening. The turning point had been the kitten. Athos, at his wit's end to try to engage his friend, had found a little white kitten in the stables, a kitten with a black spot on her nose, and in desperation, had brought it to Aramis and laid it in his lap. Sitting back, Athos waited to see what would happen. At first, there was no response whatever.

Athos, a small smile on his face as he continued to hold Aramis' lifeless hand, could still clearly recall the moment when Aramis had begun to stroke the kitten's fur, then lifted her up to his cheek and held her there. From there, he slowly began to recover.

"You have to come through this, mon ami," Athos silently insisted. "We would never be the same if you were no longer with us. You are our heart." Lifting Aramis' hand, in an unconscious imitation of that long-ago time with the kitten, he laid it along his cheek, and his tears silently covered the hand of the brother he loved so much.

His mind continued to play through happy and sad events in their lives, wondering if there would ever be any more.

Continuing his torturous thoughts, he remembered the last time he had seen Aramis before he disappeared that night. He had once again been remonstrating with his brother about his feelings for the Queen, heatedly pointing out again that it was treason and that it was highly dangerous, both for himself and the Queen. He had been coming down hard on Aramis frequently in those past few weeks, trying to get through to him.

This time, after going back and forth on the subject for quite some time, Aramis had finally got up and, putting on his hat, had taken rapid strides towards the gate, and then out and down the street. No one had seen him since that night, until they had found him four days ago nearly dead.

Athos, his head in his hands, couldn't bear the pain he felt he had caused. If he had not driven Aramis into the streets that night, this would never have happened. Aramis, whose sense of danger was almost legendary, would have been too distracted by their argument to notice the danger to himself until it was too late.

Too late. Athos repeated the words to himself, his stomach in knots from what he had done. If Aramis d... No, he couldn't say, couldn't even think the words. He couldn't lose the most precious gift he had ever been given, the best friend he had ever had. He couldn't.

Taking a gentle hold once more of his brother's hand, he held it like it was a lifeline, with his head bowed over Aramis. Softly whispering, he said,"Live for us, Aramis. We love you so much."


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos hadn't really been able to get much sleep. He was so worried that Aramis had still shown no signs of awakening. It had been over four days, and his brother, his friend, still lay unmoving, his face so pale and pain-filled. He couldn't lose Aramis, they couldn't lose him.

He moved across the room to relieve Athos, who showed no signs of moving from Aramis' bedside. Leaning over to speak as softly as possible, Porthos said, "I understand completely how you don't want to leave his side. None of us do. Treville will have our heads, though, if we don't follow his orders. And like he said, if we become too exhausted, we won't be able to help him. Get some rest, brother."

Athos turned, looked up at Porthos with beyond-weary eyes, then ever so slowly rose from the old wooden chair he had been in the whole night. Laying a hand gently on Porthos' shoulder, he went to the other side of the room,and laid down on the cot Porthos had just vacated. Within seconds, he was asleep, exhaustion claiming him despite himself.

Porthos silently slid into the chair Athos had just vacated, reaching for Aramis' hand to clasp gently in his own. Gazing down at the man he called his closest and dearest friend through eyes filled with tears, Porthos thought to himself, "It's been so long now. What if...", but didn't go any further.

He tried coaxing Aramis into taking some water, but to no avail. Taking up a cloth folded over a basin of cool water, he dipped it in, never letting go of his brother's limp hand, wrung it one-handedly and began stroking it softly over Arami's sweat-streaked face.

"Why?", he asked himself for the hundredth time. Why had his brother been kidnapped and treated as he had been? It was an act of pure hate, inflicting as much damage as they could. Even the worst hardened criminals weren't known to do this kind of evil.

Aramis had been starved, beaten repeatedly, cut, burned, and flogged. The rope burns around his throat probably were the result of a sick practice in some prisons of making a prisoner think he was being hanged, then cutting the rope after the person was dropped. If he didn't have such a strong physique, he would not have been able to last through half of what had been done to him. But his friend endured it, ever knowing if his friends, his brothers, would ever be able to find him to rescue him. He had lain in that dank, dark cellar for what must have seemed an eternity, surrounded endlessly by the threat of death. They had been blessed to even get an unexpected break and find him at last. He just hoped there was a way for Aramis to pull through this ordeal.

As Athos had before him, Porthos mind began to run back through memories of he and Aramis' past.

He remembered how he had first met Aramis. He had been brand-new to the garrison, and feeling rather lonely. There were also a couple of the veteran Musketeers, who didn't take too kindly to his skin color and gave him a very hard time, making his training even more rigorous, as one of them was in charge of some of the training drills. He remembered how the man made him do twice as many drills as anyone else, and regardless of his strength and determination, still wore him out every day. Every day, that is, until Aramis noticed what was going on and stepped in.

The man was livid when Aramis pointed out, ever so politely but in front of other Musketeers, that Porthos was being singled out in an unfair way, The man had charged Aramis after he had turned around to leave, slamming into his back and knocking him to the ground. Porthos started to step in to come to his assistance, but Aramis regained his feet and head-butted the man in one swift and unexpected movement. Then, he had kicked him in the stomach, knocking the air out of him, then punched him in the jaw. The man went down like a stone, and lay there unmoving. No one went to his assistance, everyone else having seen the unfairness of his treatment of Porthos.

After he had taken care of the situation, Aramis walked over with a grin, and threw his arm around Porthos' shoulder. "What say we go have a drink, my friend?", like nothing had happened.

That had been the beginning. Porthos never noticed how Aramis had been watching him from afar, but a few days later, he came down to the table with a bundle after Porthos had eaten lunch, and after setting the bundle down, sat down next to Porthos.

"I couldn't help but notice that several times you were peering at the Captain's notice on the wall outside his office this week. Were you, by chance, never given the opportunity to read and write?"

Porthos hung his head, one of the few times he felt ashamed. Aramis said, "It's nothing to be ashamed about, Most people do not know how to read. It is important, though, to know what the Captain wishes to inform us about, and if you don't mind, I would like the opportunity to teach you. Would that be something you would like to try with me?"

Porthos sat there stunned. He had always been embarrassed by his lack of an education. No one had ever offered to do something like this for him. He dearly would love to know how to read and write the letters he saw on paper. Slowly, he looked up at Aramis and nodded. Aramis grinned and opened the packet he had brought with him, revealing a book and writing materials. So began Porthos' late start on the education he had wished for all his life, and the beginnings of a beautiful friendship.

Porthos' face reflected his conflicting emotions: the love he felt for his friend, and the incredible sadness when he thought about possibly losing him.

Aramis began to show signs of distress again, his face twisting in pain at the pain his body was giving him. How Porthos wished his brother would open his eyes. He wanted so badly for Aramis to see that they were all there for him. Not once since they had found him had he shown any signs whatever of recovering consciousness. Porthos knew just how bad that was.

He began gently running his fingers through Aramis' unruly locks, and eventually his brother calmed once more. Porthos' thoughts once more returned to his memories.

The closest they had ever come to losing Aramis before had been when Marmion had pushed his brother out an upper-story window. He had felt such a helplessness when that had happened, being held by Marmion's strange crew of thugs and unable to run to his aid. Locked in the cellar with Rochefort alone was enough of a hardship, but not knowing whether his friend was alive or dead was an agony.

When he came through that door later and locked eyes with Aramis, he was so incredibly grateful for the gift of his friend's life back to them. He didn't understand at first how it could have happened in the first place. Aramis had fallen out of a window several stories up in the old building. But the fate Marmion kept on and on about had saved Aramis' life. That fate, whether Porthos was a devout believer or not, was divine intervention, was something Marmion seemed to know nothing about, but which had given Porthos' friend back to him. He was hoping so much for Aramis to once more come back to them.

The night continued, Porthos never letting go on Aramis' hand in the stillness before dawn.

It was almost time for d'Artagnan's 'shift', and Porthos wished once more that he could just stay beside the bed. He didn't need the sleep. What he needed was Aramis to open his eyes for him.

He had no sooner said that than he began to notice movement under Aramis' eyelids-maybe signalling a return to consciousness?

Porthos called softy to him, "Aramis? Come on, brother, can you open your eyes for us? We are very worried about you. Aramis?"

Athos and d'Artagnan, awakened by Porthos' voice, had joined him at the bedside, hoping as he was that their long wait was over.

It took several minutes longer, but then gradually Aramis' eyelids began to flutter, then to open. They held their breath, scarcely daring to hope that their wait was over.

Aramis' eyes slitted open, then opened a little further, pain reflected in their depths.

Porthos said again gently, "Aramis? We are here for you."

Aramis didn't seem to hear him, his eyes wearily shifting to the left then the right in confusion. He didn't seem to have any idea where he was.

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide in fear. Whatever he was seeing was creating a sense of absolute terror in him. His body tried to move, and his mouth opened in a silent cry of panic. What did he see? He must still believe he was being held captive by his kidnappers, and they were threatening him with some form of torture.

He didn't have enough strength to move much, but it didn't stop him from trying. As much as they didn't want to have to restrain him, they knew if they didn't, he would break open his wounds and make things even worse. So they gently but firmly grabbed hold of his limbs and kept him in place. This seemed to cause an even higher level of panic, and struggling vainly against the arms that he believed belonged to his captors, his body finally went totally limp, collapsing into unconsciousness once more, as his brothers fledgling hopes turned again to near despair.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos drew Porthos away from the bed where Aramis was lying so still once more, leading him over to the bed d'Artagnan had vacated. Urging him gently to recline, Athos told him, "He will make it, brother. He is one of us, and we never have given up easily. You know that."

With a sad nod, Porthos closed his eyes, exhaustion claiming him as it had Athos when it had been his turn.

D'Artagnan took up the hand Athos and Porthos had been unable to let go of in their vigils, gazing down at Aramis' face. What would they do if...? As the others had been unable to do, d'Artagnan couldn't even fathom that possibility.

He may be the newest member of the Inseparables, but his love for them and theirs for him were the same. His heart was torn and aching as he continued to gaze at his brother, who was nearly as white as the sheet he was lying on.

As the others had done, he wondered why? Why would anyone do this? Aramis was the most outgoing of the four, always able to make people feel at ease. He loved life in all its variety. He was always full of humor, but treated others with a sensitivity and care that endeared him to so many around him. What could anyone possibly think he had done to deserve what had happened to him?

For a moment, his thoughts turned dark as Porthos' always did when anyone harmed his brother. He found himself thinking he would like to see the villains at the end of his sword point. But then, he remembered that Aramis was also always the peacemaker, trying to find a way to reconcile opposing parties. He admired the faith that worked in his brother's heart that brought out that aspect, even if he himself didn't have it (but wished he did).

Looking at the wounds covering Aramis' body, he knew that they were very lucky that their brother was still alive. He remembered literally begging Aramis to teach him some of his medic skills, never thinking that someday he might have to use them on something this horrendous.

He, Athos and Porthos had done the best they could, meticulously cleaning his wounds. Quite a number of them had needed stitching, and he and Athos had shared the work. Unfortunately, several of them looked as if they were turning infectious at the time,and now several days later, were definitely so. They then bandaged them with strips of clean white cloth. They hoped the ointments they had gently rubbed into the wounds would be enough to fight the infections off.

Through it all Aramis had never moved, never made a sound. Any one of the various forms of torment that had been inflicted upon him could have killed him. He remembered hearing Athos and Porthos swearing softly under their breath as they uncovered one after another of the burns, cuts, lashmarks-and then, they had seen the rope burns around his neck. They didn't know if it was because of the near-hanging or the restraints to keep him silent that had taken away his voice-the voice that could be so eloquent, so compassionate, so joyful, or so downright silly when he chose. They all hoped it was a temporary thing, that with time, they would hear his voice again. But they just didn't know right now.

D'Artagnan thought about an aspect of Aramis' captivity that had no outward signs, but could have inflicted emotional and psychological wounds, as well. The way his captors would have spoken to him probably would have been very intentionally hurtful and cruel, as well. If his brothers had no idea who could have done this, or why, would Aramis have been left in the dark as to the reason also? It would be even worse to endure if someone had no clue as to why.

As Athos and Porthos had done before him, he began reminiscing about Aramis.

He still remembered vividly his first "visit" to the garrison, where he had goaded Athos into dueling with him. His sole intention was to avenge his father's killer, whom he had believed to be Athos, and was furious in wanting to kill him. Athos, Porthos and Aramis had put an end to his intentions, for which he was very grateful now.

He had wanted badly to kill Aramis' brother, yet the man had never held it against him. Aramis even asked him to help them find the real killer when d'Artagnan was still half-convinced it was Athos. Aramis had never treated him badly because of the prior incident, which showed d'Artagnan the compassion and the innate sense of justice his brother had.

During the time in Pinon, he got to know another aspect of Aramis, his joie de vivre, his throwing everything into his Musketeer life, his role as a soldier, his belief in making the world a better place by rooting out the wrongdoer's, the criminals, the evil in the world, so that right conquered wrong.

D'Artagnan could see almost from the first the strong faith Aramis had. It colored the way he saw the world. He also saw how conflicted Aramis sometimes was over his affairs with the women in his life. He didn't know what had happened, but felt that Aramis had been very badly hurt earlier in his life, and just couldn't make a permanent commitment yet. But he had a very strong need for the gentle side of life,and found that with his relationships with the ladies of the court, many of whom had been very badly hurt by negligent, and sometimes abusive husbands, whose only interest in the women was either to get an heir, marry into a title, grow richer, or increase their land holdings. He gave them his complete attention, a gentle touch, and kind words in a life that for many of them was the only time they experienced these things.

The look of pride in Aramis' eyes when he had finally earned his pauldron brought a smile to his face despite his worry. Aramis obviously thought it might happen that day, as he had brought the pauldron with him to the challenge arranged by Louis, Richelieu and Treville. He could still feel the hug Aramis had given him, and wondered if he would ever feel it again.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted and his eyes flew open when he felt the tremors running through his brother's abused body begin to grow stronger. Aramis' face was twisted and full of fear. He was obviously having a nightmare, one that was causing distress and terror.

Reaching up to thread his fingers through Aramis' hair, he found that Porthos had reached the head of the bed a split second before and was already trying to calm his brother. Athos stood on the other side of the bed, clasping Aramis' hand.

Aramis' breath was coming in great ragged gasps as his nightmare continued, his chest heaving as the effects of his dream raged through his body. There was nothing they could do other than what was already being done, giving him comfort, letting him know somehow that he was not alone. His brothers were surrounding him, loving him, wishing so badly for him to pull through.

It seemed like forever, but gradually his breathing evened out. His body was drenched in sweat, and there were still tremors running through it, but the nightmare that had plagued him had run its course and he was still once more.

As d'Artagnan looked around silently into his brothers' eyes, he saw the same pain in them that he felt. They had to deal with the possibility of death frequently as Musketeers, both the lawbreakers and their victims, but when it was someone each of them loved very much, it tore them apart.

They all knew these episodes couldn't continue indefinitely, as he was too weak to survive them. They each wished they had his faith to turn to, and each in the silence of his heart asked Aramis' God to pull him through.


	4. Chapter 4

Treville had been unable to be with Aramis much at all since they had brought him back. Louis' constant demands for attendance, Rochefort's machinations, and the investigation into who had perpetrated the kidnapping had taken all his time. The house they had found Aramis in had to be ransacked from top to bottom for any possible clues to the kidnappers' identities. So far, it had been a fruitless undertaking, nothing had been uncovered that could help them in their search.

But at last he had a little time, and he headed straight for his Musketeer's room. Opening the door quietly, he saw at once that all three of Aramis' brothers were gathered around his bed. Frowning, he wondered briefly if they were defying his wishes to rest, but he knew his men and understood that something must have happened before he entered the room.

Moving over to the bed, he looked questioningly at Athos, who said, "He had a very bad nightmare, and all we could do was be here for him. He gradually quieted down. But Captain," his eyes moving back to rest on Aramis, Athos' voice could barely be heard, " many more of these spells and it could take too much of a toll on him."

Treville realized his men needed to stay at the bedside for a few moments, and kept his peace. After a period of time, he said, "I would like to spend a little time with Aramis. Would you all please get a little rest while I am able to be at his bedside?"

Recognizing a subtle command when they heard one, all three Musketeers moved to the other side of the room and settled in on the cots and floor, asleep in moments. Treville smiled, his respect for these four Musketeers, his unspoken favorites , never wavering.

Reaching out to take the hand that had seldom been left to itself on the bed since Aramis had been brought back, Treville sighed, knowing his survival was now in the hands of God Almighty. All they could do is be with him to comfort him as best they could.

As the others had wondered, so did Treville. What was the cause of this tragedy to begin with? Who was behind it all? He hoped some of the items brought back to the garrison for evidence would pan out eventually, but it was slow-going.

"Aramis, what happened to you?" Treville softly said. "We will get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do, I promise you," he said, ruffling his man's tousled curls.

He had been the first of his Musketeers, when he had been asked to form the new regiment. Aramis had caught his eye when he had still been in the army. His fierce fighting skills, the most accurate shot he had ever laid eyes on and almost as good with a sword, his love for and loyalty to king and country, his ability to get along with almost anyone and put them at ease, his sense of humor and love for life all recommended him to Treville. But one of the biggest reasons of all was he really liked the young man.

Treville's face saddened at his next thought, though. All those traits had almost disappeared after the training mission to Savoy. Aramis had come back a broken man, who had no interest in anything around him, no joy, no happiness. His eyes were dull, his movements slow and hesitant. Savoy had torn the heart right out of him. He thought he should have died with his comrades, and didn't understand why he had been singled out to survive. The desertion of Marsac had further devastated him. He didn't understand why his friend had saved his life, then deserted.

This went on for some time, til two fairly new Musketeers took an intense interest in the crestfallen Musketeer. They had both barely begun to know Aramis, who had initiated the relationships in both instances. They had badly missed the fledgling friendships that had been formed, almost against both of them's wills. Aramis had inched his way into their hearts,and now he seemed not to care what happened to himself or to anything else.

They took to seeking him out, sitting down on either side of him and working to engage him into conversation almost against his will. When he didn't seem to be responding well, they didn't back away, they just kept coming back.

They brought him things they thought might interest him: a book, a piece of pastry, a new pistol. But nothing seemed to work-until the kitten. Treville still remembered when Athos had come to his office to tell him, almost wonderingly, that Aramis had finally taken an interest in something. When Treville had asked him what, Athos' face broke into a smile, as he said, "A kitten! A tiny little ball of fluff, and Aramis hasn't let go of it since, stroking it's fur and murmuring to it. It is a small victory, but we will take what we can get,and go from there."

Athos and Porthos had never given up, Treville mused, and the three of them, now four with the addition of d'Artagnan, had become a force to be reckoned with, his best Musketeers, almost like sons to him. He could always count on them in his toughest assignments.

Aramis was very special to him, and he wished there was anything he could do to heal him. He had many skills, but that was, unfortunately, not one of them. He knew it was no one's fault that the physicians in Paris were all pulled away at the moment, but it still made him angry that it had to be now, of all times, when they needed one the most.

He and Aramis' toughest moments had been when Marsac showed up again, trying to assassinate the Duke of Savoy. He had felt so horrible about keeping the whole Savoy affair a secret, but he hadn't any choice, as the Cardinal repeatedly pointed out to him. It would endanger their secret spy in the Savoy camp, and they couldn't risk it. When Aramis had grown so frustrated and angry with his silence that he had punched him, it had nearly broken his heart. But Aramis' heart and loyalty were still in the right place, and his respect for his Captain came though clearly when he killed Marsac to save his Captain's life, Treville thought with a sad smile. Treville still felt awful that the choice had to be made, as it meant that Aramis had to shoot his one-time best friend. It wasn't something every man could do, but it was the right thing. Stroking Aramis' limp hand, Treville said a silent "thank you" to the man who meant so much to him.

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Aramis felt like he was swimming through pea soup, his head a muddle of pain and fog, and not only his head. His body was filled with agony.

Then, he felt something, and fear clutched once more at his heart. He could feel a hand on him. All he knew was that when someone touched him, it created pain, agonizing pain.

No! Please no! Please, no more!

He tried to move his hand, his body, but nothing happened. His body wouldn't obey him. He was helpless to resist. Panic was rising up inside of him. Please, NO, he screamed silently.

He could feel his breathing speed up, his heart beating frantically.

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Treville saw Aramis begin to breathe heavily, his chest heaving, his eyelids fluttering. He thought, he must be having another nightmare! Laying his hands on either side of Aramis' face, he called to him.

"Aramis, Aramis! It's all right. You are safe! Can you open your eyes for me, please?"

As softly as he spoke, the others woke at once and surrounded the bed: worry mixed with hope in their eyes, which were riveted on their brother.

He tossed his head back and forth in the throes of his nightmare, the hands reaching out to touch and console him dimly perceived by him as threats to harm him.

Once again, they needed to keep him still, which only served to cause him to panic more.

Treville said in a low voice to Athos, "Have these happened often?"

"These are the spells I was speaking about earlier, and he is having far more of them than his body can tolerate, Captain. But when we attempt to restrain him to keep him from causing himself more harm, it panics him and he struggles even more. In his delirium, I believe when he feels someone touch him, he just thinks he is going to be hurt again."

As before, they restrained him as gently as they could, trying not to let his cries tear their emotion apart any further. This nightmare lasted far longer than any of the others, and they hoped it didn't mean he was deteriorating further.

Gradually, he quieted to the point that they could stop holding him down. He lay trembling, probably exhausted from the episodes, but his breathing and heart rate were calm again. Each time one of the nightmares happened, it left his brothers, and now Treville, even more worried. Finally, when Aramis' tremors ceased, they all took a collective deep breath.

Treville left to supervise the men going through the items from the kidnap house. Athos said, "I believe it is my watch again, gentlemen," sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

But just as he took up Aramis' hand once again, he froze, whispering softly to the others, "Look! His eyes are trying to open," hope present in his voice.

Porthos and d'Artagnan, who had just turned to go back to their cots, spun around, almost afraid to see that he had been mistaken. But there was no mistake. Aramis' eyes were definitely fluttering, and they could see his eyes moving under the lids. Would he truly awake this time, or would another of his nightmares again claim him?


	5. Chapter 5

Aramis continued his struggle to come to consciousness. He felt like he was struggling against the tide in inky black water. Pain radiated throughout his body like lightning bolts, and then the nightmares came again. Fear filled his mind, and he struggled to get away from what was coming, trying to retreat as much as he could. But hands were laid on him, holding him down and helpless. Panic filled him, not knowing what it would be this time, just memories of countless sessions of agony. His struggles gradually grew weaker and weaker, until he lost the battle and floated away in the black void again.

When he next had any awareness, he again tried to open heavy-lidded eyes.

He heard a voice. That voice seemed familiar to him. "Look, his eyes are trying to open." Who was there? He tried harder to raise his eyelids to see who was with him.

Dark, pain-filled eyes finally opened, but shut just as quickly, squeezed shut against the unaccustomed light. He had been so long in the dark that his eyes couldn't take the sunlight coming in the window. Tears leaked from under his lids from the light he wasn't able to tolerate yet.

D'Artagnan figured it out first, racing over to the window to close the shutters. The room was now lit by a single lantern set in a far corner.

Athos leaned over, speaking in a soft voice, "Aramis, it is all right. We have closed the shutters. Would you try to open your eyes once more now?"

Aramis' eyes once again slowly opened. His brothers were overjoyed. He looked from one to the other of his brothers, his eyes full of confusion and pain. He tried to say something, but though his lips moved, no sound came forth. This confused him even more, and panic started to set in, his breathing speeding up as he tried to figure out what was happening.

Athos and Porthos grabbed hold of a hand each, and Porthos said, "It's all right, Aramis. You're safe now."

But he didn't understand. He didn't know what was happening, or why he was lying in a bed with his brothers looking at him with such worry, or why they needed to tell him he was safe?

Athos spoke softly, "You are safe, Aramis. You have been injured, and we have been taking care of you. You have given us quite a scare!"

Aramis' eyes moved from brother to brother, not taking in things very well. He felt a cramp shooting up his left side, and instinctively tried moving a little. Instantly, the pain in his body ratcheted up, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut against it.

Porthos said, "Try not moving, Aramis. Your body needs to be still right now. How about some water?"

Not waiting for an answer, he lifted Aramis' head slightly, and Athos held a cup to his lips. Most of the small stream of water never entered his mouth, dribbling down and off his chin. Trying again, he was able to swallow a little more. They wanted to give him as much as he could take, but the third time it came back up, and Porthos hurriedly turned him sideways just in time.

Laying him back down again, they saw that he was breathing way too fast, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Porthos had no choice in having to turn him sideways, but he felt so bad anyway. "You only did what you had to, Porthos. If he was lucid, he would be the first to tell you this," Athos said. Porthos nodded, but wished he had not had to cause his brother any more pain than he already was suffering from.

Athos said to Aramis, "I know you do not understand much right now, brother. Just lie still and rest. One of us will be with you at all times. You will not be alone."

Again, Aramis' eyes brows drew together trying to understand. He didn't know why they kept reassuring him. What had happened? How had he been hurt? He couldn't remember,and his eyes and face reflected his lack of understanding to his brothers.

They were puzzled. Why was he looking so confused? Did he not know what had happened to him? And if he was unable to speak, how could he tell them about it?

Porthos, not being able to stand seeing his dear friend in this condition, sat down on the bed and gently lifted Aramis' head and shoulders into his lap. He could see that just the slight movement had caused Aramis' pain, and his free hand came up to softly ruffle his touseled hair. Aramis' head leaned into his brother's chest, almost snuggling against him. At last a little smile came upon Porthos' face, and looking up at his other brothers, he saw the same expression mirrored on their faces. Despite all the pain, confusion and fear, Aramis' had reacted instinctively, as much as he was able, in a way that was familiar to them.

Athos had told Aramis that one of them would be with him all the time, but they all knew that none of them were going anywhere. They couldn't bear to leave their brother at all.

They knew he wasn't out of the woods yet by any means. He had too many injuries that needed healing, and his body had been kept nearly starved and deprived of water for much too long. They wished so badly for a physician to treat him. Then, they would know for sure.

Almost like fate the door opened and Treville returned, only this time he wasn't alone.

"Dr. Lemay," they all called out together, more relieved than they could articulate.

Lemay headed straight for Aramis' bed, while Treville explained. "I no sooner got back to my office, than Emile at the gates came to tell me that Dr. Lemay was there. I was never so glad in my life," smiling over at the physician, his relief still present on his face.

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To say Lemay was shocked at Aramis' condition would be an understatement. He knew the Musketeers' life included the occasional wound or other injury, but this went beyond anything he had every heard of or seen before.

He and Aramis had spent time together discussing medical techniques, so he felt he had got to know him well enough to be a friend of sorts. What had happened to Aramis sickened him. he knew there were many low-lifes in the world, but this?!

He knew better than to ask the others to leave while he did his examination. If he had been as close to anyone as these Musketeers were to each other, he would not appreciate leaving the bedside for one moment.

Porthos laid Aramis gently back down on the bed so that Lemay could examine him. He had fallen asleep or was unconscious once more, so they hoped he would stay out until the exam was over. They didn't want him going through any more pain.

Pulling the sheet down further, he started with Aramis' head. There were bruises in various colors and sizes, including a massive black eye and a long cut down the right cheekbone. He felt through Aramis' hair and found two large bumps, both towards the back of his head.

Then, he noticed Aramis' neck, and startled, look askance at Athos. "There is a nasty procedure done in some prisons, where the prisoner is told he is to be hung. But when the latch is dropped and he falls, the rope is cut before it can kill him. This is probably what was done to him. In some cases, it kills the prisoner before they can cut the rope, as it is already strangling him." He spoke in a barely audible voice, as he and the others were undergoing a trauma of their own, and talking about it only caused them to picture it again in their minds.

Lemay exclaimed again under his breath when he saw Aramis' chest. It was also covered with black and purple bruises, but his reaction had been to the myriads of cuts and slices, obviously done by a knife, that littered his body, extending to the arms, shoulders and upper legs. There were also burn marks, varying in size, indicating that they had used more than one kind of implement on him.

Several of his fingers were broken,and a couple had fingernails removed. But Athos quietly spoke and said, "Just a warning before we turn him over for you. He has been badly flogged, and some of the lashes are infected."

After Lemay's examination, he opened his bag and produced needle and thread, various ointments, bottles and bandages. He knew without asking that the others would bring water and cloths for cleaning the wounds. He could see that they had taken the best care of him that they knew how, and that they were happy to see him there for Aramis.

"I will have to cut the stitches of some of the wounds that you have stitched already," he told them reluctantly. "There are a number of them that are infected or bordering on infection setting in, and they need to be opened and the salves rubbed into them."

"We understand," Athos replied. "We did the best we could, but unfortunately, have no medical training."

"You did a remarkably good job, though," Lemay said. He hesitated, then said, "We are going to do our best to pull him through. Can you tell me, is there anything else I should know of his ordeal?"

Porthos spoke up, saying, "They starved him. Barely gave him enough food and water to keep him alive. His hands and feet were tied for almost a month, and he had a gag in his mouth, plus a muzzle. How dangerous did they think he was?", his voice cracking as he spoke.

Athos knew these things would have been because the cellar of the house he had been held in was in the middle of Paris,and they were afraid of being discovered. But it was good for Porthos to speak and not keep things bottled up inside. Just talking helped sometimes in a situation like this.

As he worked, Lemay asked them, "Could you get some clear soup or very thin porridge? We could try giving him just a little of something. Very much and his system will just reject it, but it would be a start."

D'Artagnan was heading for the door as he finished, to find Serge and enlist his help in making something for Aramis.

Lemay continued to work, his hands gentle as he treated Aramis, who hadn't stirred through the whole process so far.

As he was finishing, Aramis finally moaned and moved his head restlessly back and forth.

Athos and Porthos both leaned over, soothing their beleageured brother with soft voices, and ruffling his hair gently. Aramis' eyes slowly slitted open.

"Aramis," they both spoke at once. His eyes opened the rest of the way, looking up at them with beyond-weary and pain-filled eyes. Then, he seemed to sense another presence, and his eyes moved slowly to Lemay.

"Hello, Aramis," Lemay said. "How are you feeling?"

Athos and Porthos hadn't told him yet about Aramis' inability to speak. Aramis tried to respond, but his face once more showed his confusion when he was unable to make any sound.

Lemay looked at the others, and said, "He has been unable to speak since you found him?"

"Yes," Athos said. "When he awoke the previous time, his face registered his confusion that he couldn't say anything. Something else is wrong also. We do not think he remembers what happened to him. We believe he remembers us, but not the past month."

Lemay said, "He could regain his partial memory loss and speech as he recovers. The memory loss of the time of his kidnapping could be his mind's way of protecting against the horror he endured. The inability to speak may well come back also as he recovers, if it is from the damage to his mouth. We will not know for sure for some time yet, as he has a long road ahead of him. He will need as much gentleness and love as I know you will give him to come through this."

D'Artagnan came back with a bowl and spoon, saying, "Serge was so happy to be able to make Aramis' something to eat. All the men are asking about him."

Porthos gently lifted Aramis up slightly, so that d'Artagnan could give him some thin soup to eat. But when he started to raise the spoon towards Aramis, his brother's eyes shot open wide in fear and he tried to back away, but Porthos held him against his chest. His whole body was trembling in his attempt to move away.

"Take the spoon away-NOW!" Athos commanded. D'Artagnan hurriedly moved the offending object out of the sight of his brother, who had still been trying to scramble away from it.

His brothers and Lemay looked at each other in dismay and worry. "Why was he afraid of the porridge?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I do not think it was the porridge, d'Artagnan," Athos answered sadly. "I do not know what they did to him with it, but I believe it was the spoon he feared so much."


	6. Chapter 6

Their eyes met above the bed, reflecting their shock. They had been totally unprepared for the reaction they received when they had attempted to give him some food. They were also concerned that he wasn't receiving the pain and sleep meds Lemay had poured into the soup.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then, Athos spoke up. "There is another way we could try. Porthos, pour the soup into a cup instead. We will wait until Aramis has had a chance to be calm again. Then, we can try once more."

After the soup had been transferred, Porthos once more lifted Aramis up, and Athos, taking the cup, raised it to his brother's lips, speaking quietly to him.

"Aramis, would you try again to drink the soup for us? We know how much you like Serge's chicken soup, and he made this especially for you."

Aramis' eyes looked up at Athos, slowly moving then to Porthos, d'Artagnan and finally Lemay, then he slowly looked down at the cup and responded by opening his mouth. Athos had been right about Aramis fearing the spoon.

He was able to swallow some of the soup slowly. They took their time, and were rewarded when he finished over half the cup they gave to him. His brothers smiled at each other, so happy that he was finally able to take in some food.

"Very good, Aramis," Athos told him, and they followed the soup with some water, which he also was able to take.

Turning to Lemay, Athos asked him, "Do you think he had enough to receive the benefits of the meds you put in the soup?"

Lemay responded, "Definitely, and they will take away a good portion of the pain and allow him to get some hopefully nightmare-free sleep. Well done!"

Porthos had gently laid Aramis back down, covering him up to his chin with a sheet and blanket. They saw that his breathing was slowing and evening out and he was already asleep. They all heaved a collective sigh of relief. At last, a little progress had been made, for which they were all beyond grateful.

Aramis slept the rest of the day, and all through the night. This was, by far, the longest he had slept since they had found him and brought him back to the garrison.

They divided up their watch times, with Porthos taking the first watch this time. Taking up Aramis' good hand, he blinked back the tears that had started as soon as Lemay had told them he would be able to sleep pain-free at last. He had been beside himself, they all had, seeing their beloved brother unable to get the rest he needed, and traumatized by nightmare after nightmare.

Gently running his fingers through his brother's hair, Porthos thought to himself "at last, he stands a chance". He couldn't picture in his mind a world without his best friend in it, he wouldn't picture it.

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Athos was sitting with him later that night, after he had relieved Porthos, who had to be reminded once again of Treville's order when he didn't want to budge. Athos once again reached for his brothers' hand, they were always extra careful to make sure it was th uninjured hand they took, and held it with both of his own.

He still couldn't help still feeling horribly guilty for driving Aramis out of the garrison that fateful night. If he had died... No, he wouldn't think about that now. The long period of peaceful sleep was such a positive sign that their beloved brother might pull through that he didn't want to think about anything else right now. But the thought still wouldn't go away.

I need a chance to ask him to forgive me, Athos thought. He knew his brother had many liaisons with the ladies in his past, but he also could see that this was completely different. He had seen Aramis and Anne at various times, gazing at each other, and he couldn't deny that they showed all the signs of being totally in love with each other.

He knew his real concern was losing Aramis if Louis or Rochefort ever found out about the two. They would have no hesitation in putting Aramis to death if that happened and probably the worst death they could devise,and he couldn't bear to lose his brother. In the back of his mind, he thought that if he could make Aramis see things as they were, possibly he would back away from the situation. But instead, he had nearly driven him to his death that night.

He could still see Aramis striding angrily towards, and then through, the garrison gates. He followed his movements as far as he could, until Aramis turned a corner and disappeared.

When Aramis had failed to show for muster the next morning, at first, Athos thought maybe his brother had visited a tavern and overimbibed, something he rarely did. But a search of his room and the garrison revealed that he never came back that night. That was when Athos began to be afraid for his friend.

This was totally unlike Aramis. Even when he used to visit his lady friends at night, he was always, without fail, bright and chipper the next morning, far more so than he himself ever was early in the morning, which made him lovingly annoyed with Aramis.

He never appeared at all that day, and that is when Treville ordered teams to start canvassing the area for any sign of where he had been, or what had happened.

Athos was like a man possessed searching for him. He worked with Porthos, d'Artagnan and Treville following any idea the four of them could come up with to find him, but it was all in vain. No one had seen or heard anything that night or since.

And who and why? They had found nothing out about that either. Obviously, Aramis was not the kind of man who would deliberately cause something so bad that this sort of revenge would be meted out to him. Was it possible...A thought occurred to him. Was it possible that he had been mistaken for someone else? Could he have been put through all of this by mistake?

Regardless of the reasons for the trauma Aramis had been put through, Athos felt in his heart that he was ultimately to blame for sending him out into the night, distracted by anger into being unaware of his surroundings and the danger lurking in the shadows.

"I am so sorry, Aramis," he whispered over and over in his sorrow.

He had been tracing circles on the back of Aramis' hand as he sat with him. His thoughts were interrupted suddenly, though, when he felt a pressure on his hand. Looking down, he saw that Aramis' eyes were open, and it had been the slight pressure of his brother's hand held in his that he had felt. Tears just began to flow when he realized Aramis had heard him, and the pressure of his hand was his way of comforting him in the only way he could. It just made him love his brother even more.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry this is such a short chapter. The tail end of this past week was much too busy. But the next chapter will be longer.

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The man at the table in the dingy tavern at the eastern outskirts of Paris had been brooding over his drink for over an hour. He was a big man, with broad shoulders, dressed as a farmer. He had winged black brows that were drawn together in a frown. He hadn't bothered to remove his hat, preoccupied with his thoughts.

Finally, he saw the three men he had been waiting for come through the tavern door, cross the room and take seats around his table. The barmaid brought drinks for the newcomers, all of whom wore the common garb of farmers.

"What took you so long?" demanded the first man.

"There are Musketeers everywhere we have gone in Paris, and we have been extra careful," one of the men, a middle-aged, stoop-backed man, said.

This immediately drew the ire of the first man, obviously the leader of the small group gathered at the table. "Why ever do you imagine you needed to be extra careful?," he said slowly and angrily. "No one has ever seen us with our first victim, so they wouldn't even be looking for us, now would they?", asking the question as if he was addressing a small child. The man he spoke to lowered his head in embarrassment.

A second man spoke up after a few moments. "What do we do next?"

"We focus for now on the other targets. Those three Red Guards need to be exterminated like the vermin they are," the leader hissed. "Our first target will, in all likelihood, never recover. As much satisfaction as I got with what we were able to do with him while we had him, we need to know that he is dead before we leave Paris, or our mission will have been for naught. Once that good news is received, only then will we return to our homes and finally find peace, if such a thing can ever be possible again with our loved ones taken from us."

Downing his drink in one gulp, he rose and headed for the door, the other three close behind.

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Athos took Aramis' hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the knuckles, a rare gesture from him. Looking into Aramis' eyes, he repeated his words of a few moments before. "I am so sorry for driving you away-before you disappeared from us, Aramis," he whispered.

But at these words, Aramis' face registered complete confusion, as it had whenever anything to do with the time he was missing. His eyes searched Athos' face, as if he had no idea what Athos was referring to. Athos' heart sank. He hadn't meant to bring bewilderment to Aramis again. He definitely remembered nothing about his kidnapping, or the moments leading up to it either, it would seem. Aramis had just heard the sadness in his voice, and responded to that. But at least, he did remember his brothers and his life before his disappearance, for which he was very thankful.

Porthos and d'Artagnan, as quietly as he had spoken, had heard his whispered apology, and now joined him at Aramis' bedside. When Aramis again looked at them with recognition clear in his eyes, their faces positively beamed.

Porthos teased him, saying, "I suppose you want us to rustle up some food for you since you decided to wake up?"

Without waiting for an answer, d'Artagnan, eager to be doing something to help, headed to the door, saying, "I can see what Serge has in the kitchen," before disappearing outside.

He was barely gone before Treville came through the door. "Where was d'Artagnan going in such a hurry? He barely nodded his head as he passed me." And then, he saw Aramis' eyes open, and the subject of d'Artagnan's destination disappeared from his thoughts as he smiled.

"It is very good to see you alert, Aramis," he said. "Athos tells me you slept for quite some time. That is a very good sign,"he continued, as he laid a hand gently on Aramis' shoulder.

In an aside to Athos, he said to be prepared to add the meds Lemay had left them to whatever d'Artagnan brought back. They were obviously doing Aramis a lot of good. Rest, along with as much food and water as they could get him to take, were very important aspects towards his recovery. Of course, as he well knew, the presence of his brothers did him a world of good. He just needed to make sure they didn't wear themselves out while taking care of him round-the-clock, or he would have four men out of the rotation instead of just one, and his best men at that.

He studied Athos' and Porthos' still-exhausted faces, and noticed something new that was present. Hope had been added, which told him how much they had thought (without daring to ever voice it) their brother might not make it. He had felt the same way, but constantly pushed the thought away, almost as if feeling that way might make it actually happen. He figured that is what had been going through their minds, as well.

Getting an idea, he excused himself, telling them mysteriously that he had an idea to investigate. They looked at him, wondering why he was being vague, but he didn't enlighten them, just saying he would be back in a hopefully short while.

Once out the door, he headed for the kitchen, also looking for Serge and a treat he had in mind for the cook to prepare for Aramis.

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A little while later, d'Artagnan came back, laden with a tray filled with the mouth-watering scents of Serge's chicken and potato soup and several slices of bread that he had just taken out of the oven. Everyone knew that Aramis was very special to Serge, and d'Artagnan told them Serge was just so happy to make every dish that Aramis liked.

As he laid the tray down, d'Artagnan looked over at Porthos with a look of pure mischief, as he said, "Serge had a special message for you, Porthos."

At Porthos' look of surprise, d'Artagnan couldn't hold back another moment before saying, "He said if he finds that you tried to sneak some of Aramis' food, he would be coming after you personally."

Athos couldn't help it. He started laughing and couldn't stop. After Porthos' first expression of outraged "innocence", he and d'Artagnan joined in. Even Aramis' eyes had a slight twinkle amidst the pain and weariness that was ever-present.


	8. Chapter 8

Aramis finished almost all of his meal this time, raising his brothers' hopes even more. The meds assisted him in falling asleep almost as soon as he finished eating. His brothers couldn't help it-they just stood there for a moment smiling as they saw how peaceful he looked.

After a few moments, Treville drew Athos and Porthos aside while d'Artagnan remained beside Aramis. They were both curious, and hopeful that there might be a clue finally amongst the things that had been brought back from the house of horrors Aramis had been imprisoned in.

"We found something that I am not sure what to make of," Treville said in a voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to chance waking Aramis up from a sound sleep.

He pulled a scrap of torn paper from his pocket,and spread it before them. Peering down at it, Athos frowned.

There were several things written on it in various places, but besides being barely legible, the paper was torn and dirty. There were words that seemed part of women's names, and a couple thatwhole names ...Marie...abrielle...Denise...Genevie...Marth..., some words they weren't able to figure out, the phrase "ladies' man", and one that was chilling, given what had been done to Aramis-Retribution. There was a hole in the middle of the paper.

Porthos asked, "Where was this found, Captain?"

"In the kitchen above where Aramis was being held. The hole in the middle is from a large knife that they had pinned it to the wall with," Treville said grimly.

They were silent for a few minutes, then Athos spoke slowly. "We all know Aramis gets teased about being a "ladies man". Is it possible he was mistaken for someone who may have done something to these women? And the women were related to the men who kidnapped him?"

"We will see, gentlemen," Treville said, "But you have voiced the same suspicion I already had, Athos. Aramis probably had no idea who these men were, or why they did this to him for nearly a month. They are going to be very sorry when we finally corner them," a comment which was very unusual for the Captain, and which revealed the depths of the love and respect he had for the four men in the room.

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Anne was furious. She stood speechless looking at Constance, who had just revealed what had happened to Aramis. She had been the last to know that the man she loved had been kidnapped, tortured and nearly killed, and whose life even now hung in the balance. She always included him in her prayers, but had been given no chance to keep him in prayer in a special way that his life might be spared.

But as she studied Constance's crestfallen face, her eyes downcast as the tears silently trickled down her cheeks, she knew she couldn't stay angry with her. She and Constance had a very special friendship, and Constance would defend her friend in the face of any foe.

"Constance, I...I'm sorry. I was overcome with the news you gave me. You know how much I love Aramis, and to find out that he could have died, still could ... (she couldn't say the words). How could the others keep this from me?"

Constance spoke in a soft, broken voice, "They didn't want anyone to know. For all we know, Rochefort could have had something to do with it, and his spies are everywhere, as we have come to learn to our sorrow. I think...I think they may have been afraid you might try to go to the garrison to be with him. If spies had seen you leave and followed you, both you and Aramis' lives could have been in peril. And, except for Athos, none of the others know of your time at the convent, so that needed to be kept hidden for now, too. Please forgive me, Your Majesty."

Instead of answering verbally, Anne put her arms around her friend and gently squeezed her shoulders, before leading her to the bench at the side of the room to sit and chat for a while,wanting to know everything about her lover.

Constance just hoped d'Artagnan and the others wouldn't be angry with her for telling Anne. But she understood, because of how she herself felt about d'Artagnan, that Anne needed to know. She would deal with any repercussions when and if they happened.

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Aramis slept for several hours untroubled by nightmares or pain, the meds continuting to give him some much-needed relief. Finally awakening, he opened his eyes to see his three brothers smiling back at him. He felt tired beyond belief despite the sleep, but the pain was manageable at the moment.

"We are very glad to see you being able to rest so well, brother," Athos said. "Are you hungry, perchance?"

At Aramis' nod, d'Artagnan once again headed for the door.

Porthos asked Aramis if he was thirsty, and lifted him up gently for Athos to give him a cup of water. Even that small movement tired him, though, so Porthos laid him back gently on the bed, and he and Athos took seats on either side of him.

A short while later, d'Artagnan came back carrying a tray with another bowl of Serge's delicious-smelling soup and another slice of bread. Athos reached for the bottles containing the meds to add to the soup, but froze when he found that only the sleeping draught was setting on the bedside table.

He looked over at Porthos, then at d'Artagnan, hoping that one of them knew where it was, only to receive negative shakes of their heads.

Looking at the floor, he saw nothing. He laid hold of the table and pulled it away from the wall, his face registering shock at what he beheld. The bottle containing the pain draught was spilled on the floor behind the table, utterly useless now. When and how had that happened, he wondered.

Taking d'Artagnan aside, he whispered, "Find Lemay as quickly as you can. The med Aramis was given should be wearing off any time now. Ask him to give you at least two, if he has them, so we have one in case of emergencies. Go quickly!", turning back to Aramis before d'Artagnan had even run from the room.

He added the sleeping draught to Aramis' soup, and began spooning it for Aramis while Porthos once again held him up in his lap. Before he was even all the way finished, the sleep med began taking effect. His eyes grew steadily more drowsy, and closed as Athos was giving him the last spoonful. Porthos once more laid him gently down on the bed and covered him with a blanket, then looked at Athos in concern.

What if Lemay was with a patient,and they were delayed in getting a new supply of the med? They dreaded having to see their brother writhing in pain again, and hoped that luck would be on their side tonight.

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Their worst fears were realized when Aramis became restless about an hour later, tossing his head from side to side, with the silent gasps of pain they had thought he was finally over. They tried their best to comfort him, as they knew their brother needed their touch to soothe him when he was ill or injured. But it didn't work as he continued to suffer from the pain shooting through his body.

Athos, usually so undemonstrative, became so upset he cursed aloud. He and Porthos continued to try to soothe Aramis, who was oblivious to their efforts.

After another hour, Porthos exclaimed, "Just what I was afraid of! Lemay probably got called away for a patient, and d'Artagnan can't find him."

Nodding, Athos was silent, guilt once more eating him alive. This is my fault, he thought in anguish. He would be going through none of this if it wasn't for my actions. I can never forgive myself.

Aramis' movements became so frenzied that Athos and Porthos once again needed to hold him down to prevent his tearing stitches or injuring himself. But this was harmful to Aramis, as well, as his subconscious mind related it again to his captors' hands upon him, and he struggled even harder. He had no strength, but that didn't stop his agitated mind from trying anyway.

Athos moved then, sitting down on the bed and tenderly gathering Aramis into his arms and cradling him against his chest, much as Porthos had down several times earlier, murmuring soft words to him to ease his fear. He could feel his brother's heartbeat pounding hard and much too fast as his breathing tried to catch up, and found himself saying over and over, "It is all right, mon ami. It is all right. You are with your brothers who love you now."The usually taciturn Musketeer gave freely of his emotions when it came to his brothers' lives, the tears shed soaking his cheeks as he comforted the brother he loved.

Aramis gradually spent himself, and with a silent gasp he collapsed. His brothers were glad that he was finally not feeling the pain any more, but sick at heart to know he had to go through the physical and mental pain and anguish once more.

Athos wearily said, "Where are you, Dr. Lemay? We need you badly," as he put his head in his hands. He and Porthos looked at each other, and hoped fervently that d'Artagnan would find Lemay soon. Athos vowed to himself to demand a bottle each for he and his brothers and one for Treville when the good doctor was finally found, so they could carry them on their persons so this would never happen again.

Aramis was now breathing easier and seemed to be out once more. They settled down to keep their bedside watch in the quiet of the night. A few minutes later in the still of the room, Athos startled when he heard, "Ath..."


	9. Chapter 9

When Athos heard part of his name spoken, he thought he had never heard a sweeter sound. Aramis' eyes moved under his lids, and Athos softly said, "We are here, Aramis. Would you open your eyes again for us?"

The chocolate brown eyes slowly opened, gazing up at Athos. "Ath...," he tried again, the word barely understandable.

"I am here, Aramis," Athos told him, smiling down into his beloved brother's face.

"Wh...," Aramis began, before his brows knit together in confusion.

"You are doing fine, Aramis," Athos told him. "Give it time. Your voice will come back. Meanwhile, just rest and do not try to figure things out. Dr. Lemay should be here soon with more medicine for you. I am sorry the other bottle broke, and you had to experience the pain again."

This was obviously too much for Aramis to comprehend, and his eyes closed once again. They had just figured he had gone back to sleep, when they heard, "Porth...?"

Porthos' whole face lit up in a smile, as he responded, "I am right here, Aramis. Just rest now, all right?"

But it wasn't meant to be, as he had barely said this than Aramis gasped as a violent spasm shot through his body and he tried unstinctively to curl up against the pain. Athos and Porthos hurriedly stopped him, Porthos gathering his brother into his arms to hold him.

Athos muttered, "Please bring the good doctor quickly."

They soothed him as best they could, and when he finally went still, they thought he had finally been able to fall asleep.

Porthos looked up at Athos, saying, "If I ever get my hands on the scum who did this, I will teach them a lesson they ...", stopping when Aramis suddenly went rigid.

A moment later, Aramis tried to back away, his body beginnning to tremble violently, his face filled with fear.

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FLASHBACK

The darkness in the pitch-black cellar was all-encompassing. As he lay there unable to move, he tried hard not to give in to the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. He had seen no one but his captors since he had been taken. He had no idea where he was, what day or time it was, or how long he had been down here. He didn't know why he had been taken, or why they wanted so much to hurt him.

He froze as he heard the cellar door creaking open. Please, not again, he thought. But the booted feet still came tramping down the stairs and across the cellar. The unaccustomed light from their lanterns caused him to squeeze his eyes shut.

Reaching him, gloved hands grabbed hold of his arms and hauled him upright, slamming him against the post in the middle of the cellar and pulling his arms above his head, tying them to an iron ring set high up on the post.

The big, stocky man with the angry black-winged brows, who he had come to realize was their leader, got right in his face as he always did. It seemed the man only had one emotion, and that was anger. What was he supposed to have done, or who had he been mistaken for?

The man spoke, saying, "Time for your next lesson. When we are through with you, you will wish you were dead-just before we grant you your wish." He then nodded to the middle-aged man with the stooped back, whe walked forward carrying a wicked-looking dagger.

Aramis was helpless to protect himself, and again closed his eyes to shut out the sight. But the leader pulled his head up by the hair and said, "You still have learned nothing. You do not have the right to shut us out. You will keep your eyes open, or it will be even worse for you."

Aramis, unable to reply, silently turned to his only source of solace and began to pray again, pleading for his brothers to find him soon.

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Athos and Porthos gently but firmly laid him back down, trying once more to soothe their tormented brother. But he was too much in fear of something he could see, or hear, in his mind.

"No...", he mumbled.

"Aramis, it is all right. It is just us, Athos and Porthos," Athos whispered to him.

"Less...", Aramis cried, his body still full of the tremors. They continued to try to calm him, Athos ruffling his hair, and Porthos' hand on his shoulder tracing soft circles.

At first, they were at a loss to understand what he was saying. Less what?

Then, Athos' head shot up, looking at Porthos. "Less," he said. What were you just saying before this happened?"

Porthos frowned as he tried to remember, then he slowly said, "I was talking about giving the men who did this a ...," stopping when he realized the word that had triggered Aramis' fear.

Athos mouthed the word, Porthos nodding in reply. He said, "Do you suppose it's possible his captors called their torments a form of ...," stopping as Porthos had before he spoke the word that they now believed had caused his panic.

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Aramis had finally fallen asleep, although it wasn't a trouble-free rest, as evidenced by the tremors that continued to wrack his emaciated body. Porthos had lain down with him, with Aramis tucked against his chest to let him know he wasn't alone and wasn't with violent men any more.

It was another two hours before the door suddenly opened and d'Artagnan hurried in, with Dr. Lemay practically following his footsteps.

As he looked down at the sleeping form of Aramis, he could see that the Musketeer wasn't sleeping soundly. He could see the tremors.

"What happened?" he asked Athos, who told him about the events that had happened previously.

"He needs the pain meds combined with the sleeping draught, but we need to wait until he awakens to give them to him. I will stay until that happens," Dr. Lemay promised.

"We have discovered more information also," Athos began.

Lemay said, "Tell me."

Athos told him about the episode from earlier in the day, including the reaction to what they believed was the word 'lesson', and why they thought Aramis might have reacted to it in that way.

The mild-mannered Lemay shocked them with what he said next. "I would personally like to see these men hung for what they have done. It is totally unconscionable, the worst cruelty I have ever seen coming from the heart of a man, or rather coming from the lack of it."

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Aramis finally awakened an hour later, probably having had another bad dream, as evidenced by the look in his eyes when they opened.

Athos leaned down and spoke softly to him so he wouldn't startle him. "Aramis, Dr. Lemay is here. Would you let him give you your pain medicine now?"

Looking over at Dr. Lemay, Aramis shocked the physician by trying to say yes, with only "Ye..." coming out.

Without registering his surprise that his patient was now speaking, Dr. Lemay said, "How would you like to have some soup and bread? Are you hungry?", smiling when Aramis gave a slight nod. "It should be ready as soon as it heats up. We will put your meds in for you."

He took Athos aside to speak to him while Porthos stayed at the bedside. He asked Athos, "When did he begin to get his voice back?", smiling as he said it.

"Several hours ago. He got most of my name out, and I must say it was the answer to a prayer," the admittedly non-practicing Athos told him.

"This is excellent progress," Lemay told him. "Let him go at his own speed. Don't push him to speak or remember anything, but it is all right to encourage him if he does. Now, for his medicine."

D'Artagnan had brought up some more soup and bread earlier, so they would have it when Aramis woke up, and had begun heating it over the fireplace.

When it was ready, they remembered to give it to him in a cup, not even wanting to think of his previous reaction to the spoon. He ate most of the soup and several bites of the bread, by which time the meds had kicked in and he nearly fell asleep before he was finished.

Porthos said, "Not so fast, Aramis. We know you want to sleep, but you need some more water in your body first," lifting him as he spoke. When they had coaxed him to finish most of a cup of water, they let him down where he fell asleep almost immediately, his face relaxed and peaceful at last.

"Doctor, we are beginning to realize the meds help him to sleep and take away most of the pain, but they do not seem to keep the nightmares at bay."

Lemay told them, "I had hopes that they would, as in many patients they do, but it seems in Aramis' case it doesn't work every time. I know I do not need to remind you, but one of you should stay at his bedside at all times. It gives him a sense of security when he awakens, and one of you needs to be with him if he has any troubles, either from the dreams or the pain. I am leaving a bottle of the pain meds for each of you, plus one for you to give to Captain Treville, so that this situation will not happen again. Please do not hesitate to call me, night or day, if you need me." With that, he left them.

Athos took first watch, as Porthos and d'Artagnan got a little much-needed sleep.

Athos took Aramis' hand in his, saying, "Sleep, Aramis." And to Aramis' God, he asked, "Heal him for us. He is our heart, and without him, we are lost."


	10. Chapter 10

Athos had never felt so helpless. As often in his life that he would have charge of a situation, both as his father's son, then as the comte, and now as Treville's lieutenant, yet there was literally nothing more that he could do to make their brother well.

His guilt was still eating him alive. My fault, my fault, his mind screamed at him. I had to act so self-righteously, and now my beloved brother is paying the price.

He remembered the morning after he and Aramis' argument. At muster, Treville asking where Aramis was. No one had any idea, including himself. All he could say was that Aramis had walked out of the garrison late last evening after an argument, and he hadn't come back by the time he had retired.

Treville's eyebrows had shot up when Athos had mentioned that. He knew that the four friends were so close-knit that serious disagreements rarely happened, so he had later asked in private if he would care to tell him what the argument had been about. There was no way Athos could discuss that subject with another living soul, so he had just shaken his head, saying it hadn't been that important. Not important! It had been the catalyst to send his brother into the night, distracted to the point that he hadn't seen an attack coming.

By evening, Treville and Aramis' brothers were deeply concerned, verging on panic. This was totally unlike their brother. He may have evenings with his lady friends sometimes, but he never stayed out the whole night, nor did he miss muster in the morning or not send word if he had an emergency that would keep him away from the garrison for very long.

By next morning, Treville was assigning the men to various areas of the city to track down what might have happened, and to try to find witnesses that may have seen anything untoward happen. But no one had seen anything.

He kept sending the men out, hoping against hope that something would turn up. But what did happen drove Treville and his brothers to the edge.

Two mornings after they had begun canvassing the city, a package was left at the gates. It must have been left late at night, as no one had seen anyone other than a Musketeer come or go all day or during the evening.

The package was brought to Treville's office. When he saw that it had Aramis' name on it, he sent the Musketeer who had brought it to him to find Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan as quickly as possible.

They had been readying themselves to go out again searching when they were told to report to Treville's office. Practically running in their excitement that maybe the Captain had discovered information, they barely knocked in their haste to enter.

But when they saw the look on Treville's face, they feared the worst. Shaken, they gathered around his desk, needing him to speak but dreading what he would say.

Realizing that delay would make the situation even worse, Treville pointed to the small box on his desk and said to Athos, "This was found at the gates this morning," indicating he should open it.

From the look in Treville's eyes, Athos knew he didn't want to see whatever was in the box. He slowly picked it up, then taking a deep breath, opened it. He gasped in shock and horror at what was revealed, silently turning the box so Porthos and d'Artagnan could see what he was looking at.

Two bloody fingernails were all that were in the box, and a note saying, "It has begun."

Everyone in the room was speechless with shock for a few moments. Then, Porthos growled, saying, "We gotta find him quick. These men are animals."

Athos spoke next, saying, "We have combed the streets, shops, anywhere that we know of that Aramis goes to, and no one has seen anything."

Athos was silent for a moment, then slowly reached out to pick up the box again. Staring at it for a few moments, he then said, " Look at the carved pattern in the wood."

They all studied it before d'Artagnan said, " I wonder who carves such intricate designs in wood. It indicates a skilled craftsman."

Athos nodded in agreement. "There are not that many with a skill like that in Paris. We need to go back to the shops we visited and try again. Someone has to have seen something."

But Athos hung his head, remembering how they tried and tried, and came up with nothing. A few days after the first small box arrived, another one, somewhat larger, was deposited in exactly the same place. The same design was on the box.

Remembering the first 'delivery', no one was eager to open this box, so Treville did so. Aramis' shirt was lying on the bottom, dirty and blood-stained. No one knew what to say, their faces showing the pain they were in over the whole situation.

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Athos continued to sit quietly beside the bed, never letting go of his brother's hand. Softly moving his hand in a circular motion as he saw Aramis begin to get a little restless, he hoped the movement might calm him down before it got any worse. It seemed to work, and he let out a little sigh of relief.

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After the shirt was delivered, there were no more deliveries, no more clues found to assist them in finding their brother. They were left with silence: from the kidnappers, from lack of witnesses; from lack of clues. They were left with only their thoughts and prayers.

They continued combing the city, but it was fruitless. There seemed to be nothing to be found-anywhere.

To a man, they had never been so frustrated in their lives. They knew time was of the essence, and every day that passed was causing them to panic a little more. What were these kidnappers doing to Aramis who was helpless in their hands? Their feet dragged more, their heads hung down, their appetites nearly dwindled to nothing.

Athos, who everyone knew liked to spend many evenings at the local taverns, had not been to one since Aramis had disappeared. Constance spent much time trying to bring any sort of cheer she could find to d'Artagnan, but it brought no smile to his face. Porthos, when they weren't out hunting for clues, spent much of his time in the gun room, cleaning the pistols and muskets that Aramis usually enjoyed doing, so that when he was back, they would be shiny and clean for him.

A Musketeer named Emile, a cocky young man who usually acted like he knew everything, seemed to be particularly affected by the somber atmosphere, not just with the Inseparables, but throughout the entire garrison. Aramis was popular among the Musketeers, always a joke or a helping hand, a smile ready on his face. He had offered several weeks ago to assist the young Musketeer in improving his aim with a musket.

Now, he had knocked on the Captain's door to ask if there was anything he could do to help. Treville was somewhat surprised. He had been keeping an eye on the young man, not knowing any more if he was Musketeer material. He had found out, quite by accident, that the young man had another interest entirely when he was off-duty.

One of the Musketeers, an older seasoned veteran, had felt it his duty to come and divulge what he had seen in a tavern the night before. Emile had been coming on to a young bar maid who was trying desperately to just do her job, having no interest in him at all. Emile had grabbed her and slapped her hard in the face. She had obviously had enough of his attentions, and she returned the slap. He stood there stunned at her action. He didn't come near her the rest of the time he was there.

But as an older Musketeer left that night, he heard a scuffle between the tavern wall and the next building. Rounding the corner, he was shocked to see Emile forcing his attentions on the young woman. Emile, for his part, looked up and frowned, obviously upset at being interrupted, and took off leaving her leaning against the wall in the alleyway.

Treville was disgusted by what he had heard, and resolved to keep an eye on the young man. He decided one more incident and he would take the young man's commission away.

When Emile came to him smiling and asking what he could do to help, Treville thought about it and sent him to Porthos to assist in cleaning the guns. He had told Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan about the incident. Porthos would keep an eye on him.

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A day later, Athos' shift had been the last one of the night and it was barely dawn when a knock sounded on the door. Surprised, he opened it, finding Serge standing there with a covered bowl in his hand.

"I made 'im somethin' special, I did," the Musketeer cook said, handing the bowl to Athos. By this time, Porthos and d'Artagnan were standing behind him, curious as to what Serge had brought. Uncovering the bowl, they all smiled at the apple tart, still warm from the oven, that was revealed. It was one of Aramis' very favorite desserts, and Serge had obviously been up a long time before dawn to prepare it for him. Everyone knew Aramis was his favorite, and he had wanted to do something special for him.

At first, they had wondered why Serge wasn't asking them how Aramis was progressing. Then, they realized he was probably pigeon-holing everyone who came to him for meals to find out how Aramis was doing.

He turned to go back to the kitchen, saying, "You tell 'im old Serge wants 'im to get well real quick."

They closed the door, and headed back to the bed. They could see that Aramis was a little restless, and hoped he was going to wake up while the tart was still warm.

Sure enough, a few moments later, his eyes opened to find three pairs of smiling eyes looking at him.

"Look what Serge made for you," they said almost in unison. When he saw the tart, Aramis' mouth quirked up into a little smile, which did all their hearts good. He finished the whole thing, too, just a bit of the warmed-up soup with his meds in it, and some more water when it was given to him. Then, he was out like a light once again. They knew he was not out of the woods yet, but it had done their hearts so much good to see that smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Later in the day, Porthos was sitting steadfastly beside his brother's bed again holding his hand, when he felt a movement in his hand. His eyes flying to his brother's face, Porthos saw that Aramis' eyes were trying to open. Waiting, he finally saw the lids raise completely, and his brother was looking up at him, again with recognition clear in his eyes. His face split into a huge grin.

"About time you woke up," he teased him, then regretted it when Aramis' face showed complete confusion.

"It was a joke," he said softly, ruffling Aramis' hair.

By this time, Athos and d'Artagnan were also beside the bed smiling.

Aramis, his brows still knit together in confusion, tried to say something, but nothing came out. Trying again, he finally was able to manage," Wh..What... hap...?" his eyes moving from one of his brother's faces to another.

Porthos and d'Artagnan looked over at Athos, who sighed, regretting the times when, as the group's silently acknowledged leader, he had to speak for them in a difficult situation.

Taking Aramis' other hand, he began slowly, "You were very badly injured, Aramis," deciding he could give as little of the actual truth as possible, hoping it would satisfy Aramis' mind for the moment.

But "H...How?" his brother asked him.

Athos was searching in his mind for the right thing to say when he was saved from answering for the moment as Treville came in. As the Captain headed for the bed carrying a tray, his face, too, began to smile to see Aramis awake again.

Aramis, seeing Treville coming, said, "C...Cap..." He couldn't get his words out without stumbling over them yet, but they didn't care. He was awake, and the longest communication between them in such a long time. They were happy for the moment with just this much.

With the meal set before him, they breathed a sigh of relief as it diverted Aramis' attention away from the subject they were trying to avoid. His eyes lit up right away upon seeing the apple tart sitting in the center of the tray.

Porthos teased him again, saying, "I promise I won't steal it and eat it, Aramis." To his delight, Aramis gave him a mock glare, almost like he had always done in the past when Porthos had ribbed him.

Porthos put the soup in a cup and began to feed him the food, always remembering to forego the spoon Serge kept putting on the food trays. He told himself he needed to explain to Serge about the utensil before Aramis sooner or later set eyes on it.

He noticed that Aramis hadn't taken his eyes off the apple tart while he was eating, and teased him again," No apple tart 'til you've finished your soup and bread now, Aramis, or I will change my mind and eat it for you." He tried hard for a straight face when Aramis gave him a second mini glare. But he finished every bite for the first time, and got his reward, smiling at Porthos as he did so.

His eyes were once again heavy-lidded from the meds in the soup, and he fell asleep as soon as he had finished the tart.

A knock came on the door, and Lemay came in.

"How is my patient doing?"

Athos replied, "He has been conscious several times and spoken, although he has great trouble forming his words yet. He stutters a lot. But he has been eating whatever we give him. He wanted to know what happened to him the last time he awoke a short while ago, but luckily Treville brought his meal in before he could ask again. We literally do not know what to tell him, Doctor."

"Do not tell him about what happened to him,not when his life is still at risk from his ordeal. If he is meant to remember, it will come to him, but speaking for myself, I do not know if I would want to relive what happened to him if I had gone through if it were me."

When his comments caused a complete silence in the room,Lemay proceeded to examine Aramis. He used several damp cloths to dab away the old salves and ointments, then reapplied fresh ones to the wounds, before rebandaging them again.

When he was finished, he told them, "They seem to be beginning to heal, which is a very good sign. But we need to keep a close eye on him, especially when he is having his nightmares. If he were to tear the stitches apart, it would not be good.

We need to hope his nightmares come to an end soon. It is not good for him to get so agitated over and over again. But there isn't a lot we can do to prevent them, or cause them to cease. I know I do not need to tell you this, but stay close beside him at all times. If anything changes, please do not hesitate to send for me. I will, in any case, be back tomorrow evening to examine him again. Good day, gentlemen."

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In a tavern near the middle of Paris, four men sat huddled around a table with their drinks. Emile was doing most of the talking to the other three, all Red Guards out of uniform.

"We have had to lie low for much too long now. I have reconnoitred, and found a very suitable farm to the east of Paris. Our focus will be the same. Farmers always are out in their fields every day except Sundays, leaving their wives, daughters, aunts, cousins at home alone-perfect for our 'hunting'. This one is only in her mid-20's, attractive, and looks to be strong enough for our purposes. She should last a lot longer than some who have received our attentions in the past. We will head out tomorrow evening."

After this cryptic directive, they all shoved their chairs back, and headed for the door.

Emile caught the elbow of one of the three, and pulled him aside when they had exited the tavern.

"I believe some of the families of our women have mistakenly taken their vengeance out on one of the other Musketeers. For some reason, they believed he was the leader of our little excursions. This is perfect for our purposes. They will consider the vengeance has been exacted, and will not be expecting trouble any more. We should have clear sailing tomorrow, cousin."

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The wounds were slowly healing, too slowly in his brothers' minds, but the nightmares continued to plague him. He had been asleep for nearly two hours before they came again.

Porthos was still beside him, and he leaned forward, saying, "It's all right, mon ami. It's just a bad dream. You are safe, and here with your brothers who love you."

But Aramis couldn't hear him, couldn't hear anything but the horror going on in his mind, and this time Porthos, and by this time Athos and d'Artagnan as well, could hear some of what he was going through. "P...please! N...no m...more. Wh..why?" He was begging his kidnappers, begging to know why, pleading for mercy, but it was falling on very deaf ears. His cries continued, as his body tried to shrink away from whatever was happening. "P...please!" He was gasping and shaking so hard that Porthos grabbed him and held him tight, hoping he wasn't disturbing any of those stitches Lemay had warned them about, but needing to comfort his panicked brother the only way he knew how.

He kept pleading, his stuttered words barely understandable, and growing weaker in strength. P...please. Ca...can't swal...He was quiet for a moment, then, "N..no. Spoo... NO!" the last word said more loudly than the others, but still barely above a whisper by now.

D'Artagnan, his face registering the same worry and concern as his brothers, looked up at them upset and confused. "What is he saying? What did they do to him? I don't understand."

Athos and Porthos looked at each other sick at heart, and Athos spoke angrily, "Those vermin! I believe they forced the food down his throat when he was unable to swallow it. They didn't want him dying on them before they were finished," his fingers continuing to gently run through his brother's curls, trying to infuse a sense of calmness that he himself didn't feel in his heart after hearing Aramis' words.

Porthos wanted to squeeze Aramis tighter to him, but didn't dare for fear of hurting him more. He continued to whisper to his brother that it was all right, and he was safe now.

Finally, Aramis had exhausted himself and fell asleep once more. Porthos gently laid him down and covered him with a blanket. Turning to Athos and d'Artagnan, he spoke in a tone of unbridled fury. "To do this to the kindest-hearted man I have ever known. These vermin will rue the day I catch up with them!"


	12. Chapter 12

Aramis awoke the next morning, but he looked utterly exhausted, the dreams disturbing him so that he didn't sleep soundly. Serge had already sent all of them's breakfast over, but they delayed giving it to them as they wanted a little time with their brother before the meds put him back once more to sleep.

Aramis looked at them, asking, "No mission?", but didn't understand when they all broke out into relieved grins. He said, "What?"

Porthos answered for them all by saying, "You are sounding more like your old self, mon ami. You were able to speak normally just now. We're just happy that you're getting better."

Aramis yawned, saying, "Tired."

Athos replied, "Would you mind if we sit with you for a few minutes before you have your breakfast, Aramis? We have missed you so much, and would just like to be with you while you are awake for a little while before we give you your breakfast with the meds in it. A breakfast, I might add, that smells delicious. Serge made you porridge, but with steamed apples in it. He knows you and your apples," all of them grinning at that. How many times through their time as Musketeers had he had an apple in his hand, an apple and a grin most of the time, even the time when Constance had smacked him while he was eating one.

They spent an enjoyable half hour reminiscing about past missions, and Aramis joined right in. His speech was still very soft and halting, but the stuttering had disappeared. They were soon competing for who could relate the funniest things that had happened in their many trips for the Crown.

Bur during a quiet moment, Aramis asked another question they dreaded answering. "Were we on a mission when I was injured?"

They all froze, not knowing how to answer his question, and unfortunately, no Captain arrived to distract their brother from his question this time.

When they were too silent, Aramis asked another question. "How was I injured?" looking intently at each of his brothers, waiting for an answer.

Athos decided he had to be as truthful as possible. Aramis had asked them more than once now about it, and they needed to give him some of the answer. He just hoped it didn't have any adverse effect on him, or trigger still more questions.

Looking over at his brothers first, he saw their nods.

"Aramis, we do not precisely know why, but you were abducted and held captive by an unknown group of men. They are the ones who hurt you so much, before we found you and brought you home. Captain Treville is determined, as are we, to hunt them down and bring them to justice."

He already felt uneasy having said as much as he had, as he could see the level of shock registering in his brother's brown eyes at his words.

Aramis was totally silent for a while, before he asked in a barely audible voice, "They tortured me?"

"Yes," replied Athos, shaken that he had to be relating this to him, and he knew what Aramis would ask him next and was dreading that, as well.

"Why?" he was asked.

"We, unfortunately, do not know enough about why they have done this," Athos told him. "We literally tore apart the house we found you in, but nothing so far has told us who they were. There was a torn piece of paper with some women's names on it, but we have not been able to find out from it who had done this to you, or why they think you would have done anything to anger them in this way."

"I don't remember," Aramis said, shaken at the loss of his memory to this extent. "I don't remember anything at all that happened to me. Why?", he asked in such a plaintive voice, "why wouldn't I remember?"

"It is probably the way your mind is dealing with the horror of what you went through, Aramis," Athos said. "It is blocking out the memories so you do not suffer through reliving it again and again."

Aramis tried to raise himself up a little as he started to speak. Instead ,the movement triggered a spasm of pain that had him gasp and lay flat quickly. Porthos leaned down and said gently but firmly, "You know you're supposed to stay still, don't you? You're still the same, brother. You want to do things too fast, and not give your body the rest it needs. You know, the advice you give us every time we get injured," his eyebrows raising as he asked the question.

Aramis just lay there, his body calming down now, while he gave Porthos a look as if to say, "Wait until I'm taking care of you again." If it hadn't been such a serious matter, they all would have laughed at his reaction, so very typically Aramis.

But they were thinking also what they wouldn't give to have him well again, and saying just how fine he was. But until he was, they weren't letting him try anything that could jeopardize his recovery.

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Anne couldn't wait to hear how Aramis was doing. Constance had sent word that she would be there to visit that afternoon. When she finally arrived, Anne could barely contain herself, before pulling her friend over to a bench in the garden to hear her news. The gardens were quiet and private, so they could speak in confidence.

"How is he, Constance?", she asked almost before they were seated.

"He is awake and lucid, Anne," Constance replied. "He isn't out of danger, but he is waking up more often, and is eating and drinking what is given him, which is slowly replenishing his strength. This will help him in his recovery."

"Is he in pain?", Anne asked, dreading the answer.

"Dr. Lemay gave him pain medication, as well as one to assist him in sleeping," Constance replied. "He does not remember anything of what happened, though."

"A whole month of his life is absent?" Anne asked in astonishment.

"That might be a very good thing for Aramis," Constance said. "To relive the torment he underwent would be awful. His mind is protecting him by keeping it from him."

"What does Dr. Lemay say?" Anne continued.

"He says Aramis is still not out of the woods, but he seems to feel much better about his chances now," Constance told her.

"Would you do me a favor, Constance?" Anne asked.

"You know I would do anything for you, Anne."

"I am going to have Cook make some special soups, and some pastries I know he likes. Would you bring them to him? Tell him who it is from when no one else can hear you, if you can," Anne said.

"Yes, Your Majesty, if we are alone, I can tell him that," Constance replied, to which Anne frowned. "I do not wish to be called by that title when we are alone together, Constance. You know that."

"Yes, Anne," Constance said, bringing the smile back to Anne's face again. She had no one else to confide in, and couldn't bear it if Constance spoke to her as if she was on such a higher level. Just once in a while, she wished to be like a normal, everyday person with her friend.

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Four men exited a small farmhouse at the edge of the woods late that night. They left behind them a scene of destruction, a young woman lying dead in the midst of it.

They had been there for two days, uninterupted in their invasion. The woman's husband had unexpectedly gone to sell some of their early harvested crops in the markets of Paris, leaving her alone and unprotected.

She hadn't suspected anything when they had knocked on her door in the morning after her husband left. It had been so easy, they mused, discussing it as they left. She had struggled, but against four men she had stood no chance. They had been able to do as they pleased. The four men seemed to have a hatred for women, as was evidenced by what they had done to her. She didn't have the strength to put up much of a fight, but still they were violent and brutal in making her submit to their advances. There were some men who just seemed to enjoy dominating and subjecting a woman for the fun of it. Even after she quit resisting, they enjoyed physically hurting her, and went on that way for two days. When her body finally gave out on her, they cut her throat and ransacked the house, making it look as if she had been surprised by robbers.

Emile smiled as they left. "That was one of the easiest ones we've had," he commented, completely without remorse of what they had done. "And since we reconnoitred the area before first coming, we now can proceed to our next quarry. She isn't far from here, and her brother went with this one's husband to sell their crops. This is a fertile area for our activities," laughing, as they headed for the next farm to the east.

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Constance had brought the food for Aramis at just the right time. Porthos and d'Artagnan had gone to give Treville a progress report when she knocked on Aramis' door. She couldn't believe her luck when it was only Athos in the room.

Aramis was asleep. She stood silently next to his bed, taking his still too-thin and pale body and the amount of bandaging. Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she sadly gazed at the usually exuberant and good-natured Musketeer, so silent now.

She laid the basket of food down,and turned to him. "Her Majesty insisted I bring this basket for Aramis. There is some specially-made soup, prepared by her own cook, as well as some pastries she believes he would like." Stopping a moment, she hurried on, "She asked me to tell Aramis who they were from, but the chances of him being awake while I am here and the others are not aren't very good. Would you be able to tell him some time, please?"

Athos, the only one who knew the Queen and Aramis' secret, slowly nodded his head. He worried constantly that the secret would come out, and he feared for his beloved brother's life if that happened. He knew, though, that hearing that Anne had done this for him would be a source of happiness for him, which could do nothing but aid him in recovering. "Very well," he responded. He just hoped that no one else found out.

Constance left soon after, and as she walked back to the palace, she pondered how in the world she would tell Anne the condition in which she had found Aramis. She wondered also how she would keep Anne from trying to find a way to come to her lover herself.

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Athos had hoped so fervently that his brother could finally get a full night's sleep, but Aramis began to become restless once again as he slept, this time more frantic than the last. Athos lifted him into his arms to comfort him, remorse at what he had shared with his traumatized brother eating away at him. He had no idea how he could have avoided telling Aramis as much as he had, given the questions his brother had asked him. But now, he felt as if it had triggered an even worse nightmare. He held him close against his chest, keeping him from hurting himself as he attempted to pull away, probably thinking it was someone trying once more to hurt him.

To calm him, Athos began rocking him gently back and forth. Aramis gradually settled down, his body calming and his head coming to rest on Athos' shoulder, which is how Porthos, d'Artagnan and Treville found them when they came back through the door.

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Treville had left and Porthos and d'Artagnan had settled down for a few hours rest. Athos had insisted they let him stay longer with Aramis, as his brother's head still rested on his shoulder, and he didn't want to disturb him while he was calm and asleep.

Athos closed his eyes as he stroked his fingers through Aramis' hair. Thus, he didn't see when Aramis' eyes started to move under his eyelids, as he began to wake up.

Aramis eyelids began to open, his mind still not quite all the way awake. His breathing quickened, as it had been doing each time he awoke, his heart beating too fast as well. But once his eyes were open, surprise registered and his heart and breathing evened out as he beheld where he was. He saw Athos' head almost touching him, and realized his head was lying on his brother's shoulder and he held him in his arms.

Safe, he thought. Waking up as he did had created in his mind a feeling of protection that eased all his fears. He thought to himself, my brothers love me, and are here for me. I'm safe. And as he drifted off once again to sleep, he thought how much he, too, loved his brothers.


	13. Chapter 13

Aramis had the longest and most peaceful stretch of sleep since they had found him. He was still lying in Athos' arms when d'Artagnan and Porthos woke up, his head nuzzled into the space between his brother's shoulder and chin. At times, Aramis had a childlike quality to him that just endeared him to his brothers even more.

Athos heard their quiet movements, and lifted one eyebrow, smiling. He didn't intend to move a muscle until Aramis awoke himself. As if his brother had heard his thoughts, Aramis' eyes began to open.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Porthos teased him. "The sun definitely be...got up before you this morning," stopping himself from saying "the sun definitely beat you up", not knowing how his traumatized brother might take the expression.

Aramis smiled, his eyes still at half-mast from sleep.

They were all so happy that he had slept so long, and didn't wake up confused. Porthos got his breakfast, after he had warmed it over the fire. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he waited until Athos had carefully maneuvred Aramis a little, then fed him the porridge cooked with peaches and honey, then as much water as he could take.

As always, Aramis fell asleep very soon after eating because of the meds. Athos laid him back down, and softly rose from the bed where he had been for so long.

"I am beginning to think he is going to survive," he said to the others, the first time any of them had dared voice the possibility since they had got their brother back. "He barely moved an inch all night and into the morning. Dr. Lemay can tell us for sure when he comes later today. Meanwhile, I need to fill Treville in on the possible progress," not even needing to ask if they were going to stay with Aramis. He knew better.

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Emile and his band left the small farmhouse late in the morning, smiles of satisfaction on their faces. This was the third house they had "visited" that week. This house had contained more than one victim, a middle-aged woman and her barely-grown daughter.

In each house they had visited, they had upped the level of violence against their helpless targets. They were growing more confident as they went, feeling like they were invincible, and would never get caught.

Emile stopped for a moment on the way to their horses, which were hidden in the trees so they wouldn't be seen. "There is one more good target we can enjoy tomorrow night, then we should lie low for a week or two, so we don't overdo it and get caught. But we can enjoy a nice day's sleep before our evening's entertainment, gentlemen."

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Aramis awoke slowly an hour or so after falling asleep. He lay there with eyes closed, and his first thought was "I'm safe". Ever since he had awakened in the middle of the night in Athos' arms, and seeing Porthos and d'Artagnan also close by getting a little sleep, he had finally been at peace.

They knew each other so well, he knew without even opening his eyes, that Porthos' hand was the one laying on his shoulder, grounding him should he become restless in his sleep.

He knew vaguely, the meds still at work in him blocking most of the pain, that he would have a long road ahead of him before he would be healed. But he also knew, without a doubt, that he would not travel that road alone. He was the most blessed man in the world, continuing his thoughts. He had three brothers who loved him every bit as much as he loved them, and they would be there at his side whatever happened. Not everyone could say something like that with any certainty.

He still remembered nothing from his ordeal. He knew, from how he had awakened over and over again in panic and terror, that it must have been horrendous. He knew also, from what he had been told, that his mind was blocking out the whole thing.

Sometimes, something he saw would trigger a sense of utter fear in him-the spoon, curiously, being one of them. He had no idea what could have happened with a harmless eating utensil. Did he really want to find out? He honestly didn't know.

Out of a sense of curiosity and his medical knowledge, he tried to look down at himself to see what damage was causing the pain he experienced instantly if the meds wore off. He couldn't see much beyond a lot of bandages and some bruises.

His throat still hurt when he tried to talk, hence the near-whisper he used in speaking. His eyes still didn't work well with a lot of light, but at least, they had now grown used to the soft sunlight peeking into the half-closed shutters. He loved nature in all its aspects, so this was something he would have to endure til he had recovered completely, he guessed.

He had not asked yet if they had any more clues to who had done this. He assumed there was a watch over the garrison for anyone suspicious lurking around. He wasn't the type of person who ordinarily would give something like that a second thought when it involved himself as he had confidence in his abilities to defend himself against anyone, but at the moment, he was more helpless than he had ever been. It was a feeling he was very uncomfortable with. Whoever had done this to him had taken a month from his life and had tortured him for unknown reasons. His thoughts continued. He didn't like the fact that he was utterly helpless to defend himself for the time being, but still he knew his brothers would lay down their lives to protect him, as he would for them should the situation be reversed, and again he smiled at the love they had for each other.

Again, his mind turned to a reason for what had happened to him. He couldn't think of anyone he had upset enough to unleash the pure hate he assumed had been the reason for it. Even when he had been dallying with the lonely ladies before Anne had become the only romantic focus he would ever need or want, they had been discreet, and the women's husbands had been inattentive and ignoring their mostly-abandoned wives. As far as he knew, none had ever known or cared that their wives had been seeing him.

They dealt with many low-lifes in their Musketeer lives, and some had threatened one or another of he and his brothers' lives, but these men would have just attempted to kill them for revenge by shooting or knifing them in an alleyway, if they could manage it. They wouldn't have resorted to such a long and involved endeavor.

He hadn't been tortured for any information they thought he had, as far as he knew. The kidnappers hadn't used him to get information out of the others, either, so that angle was out, too.

They hadn't tried to get money from the garrison or the King, either, not that Louis would have paid his wealth for a Musketeer to begin with, and neither would Rochefort.

Rochefort. Would he had done something like this? He knew the man was slimy, was jealous of the looks he sometimes saw between he and Anne, looks they couldn't seem to help giving each other. But to take this amount of time, and hide his identity? The man had an insufferable pride in himself, and would have revealed himself at some time, if only to show Aramis he was in control and gloat. No, he doubted that it was Rochefort.

Then who, and for what reason?

He had almost fallen back asleep when his mind unexpectedly remembered the tumultuous argument he had with Athos before this had all occurred. Athos had been, at least it had seemed so to him, constantly taking him to task over his feelings for Anne.

He knew the only real reason for Athos' actions was fear for his brother's life. Athos was, as they all were, utterly fearless in battle, but the one thing that would put fear in his heart was a threat to his brother's life. He had continued to try and get him to stay away from Anne, and keep his eyes from seeking her when she was near. To Aramis it was an impossible thing to do, given the feelings in his heart for her.

Their arguments had grown more and more heated, and that evening, he had finally had enough.

He remembered grabbing his hat and storming out of the garrision gates. Where had he been intending to go? Try as he might, the memory went no further, frustrating him. His mind would not go to that time, like it was locked and a bar drawn across keeping him out. Would he ever remember?

Restless, his mind turned again to his injuries. His medic's mind needed to see the extent of them, overruling the caution he always warned others they needed to exercise when they were injured. Moving his hands slowly beneath his back, he tried, as gently as possible, to push himself up slightly, just enough to see for himself and get a better sense of how bad off he was.

The instant he moved, a scream tore out of him, white-hot pain ripping through his upper body. Porthos' hand was now grasping his own, trying to give comfort. Athos and d'Artagnan, who had been asleep, were at his side in a heartbeat, as he gasped from the agony.

"Aramis, what happened?" Athos asked, his whole face a mirror of d'Artagnan's and Porthos' own faces, panic and worry warring for dominance in their countenances as they tried to figure out what had happened. Then, d'Artagnan saw one of Aramis' hands still slightly underneath his waist on the side facing him, something his brothers couldn't see from their positions. Knowing his brother and knowing his knowledge of healing, he realized what had happened.

"Aramis, did you try to lift yourself?" d'Artagnan gently asked, stroking Aramis' shoulder to calm him. But his brother was still in the throes of the agony he had ignited from a moment ago.

Athos, looking askance at d'Artagnan, raised a questioning eyebrow.

D'Artagnan said, "I believe, being a medic himself, he simply wanted to see for himself the damage he had sustained, and lifted himself to do so." His eyes pointedly looked down to the telltale hand in front of him, and his brothers, leaning over and looking, then understood.

The pain had subsided to a more manageable level after a few more moments, and Aramis went limp in sheer relief.

Porthos hurriedly got some of the leftover soup, dropped the meds in it, and came back to the bed. Athos, meanwhile, had gently lifted a still-shaken Aramis slightly, so he could drink the soup from the cup Porthos held to his lips. As always, within moments of drinking the soup, Aramis was asleep, his body once again calm.

His brothers' eyes met over his now peacefully-sleeping body, and Athos said, "We should have realized. A more alert Aramis is going to investigate matters if we aren't careful. He knows far more about healing, when he is alert and thinking clearly, than we ever will. But in his present state, we should have known he would want to know more about his condition than we have told him thus far. And the Aramis we know and love will do something about that curiosity, even if he does it on his own and before he is well enough to move."

Porthos responded, saying, "When he wakes up again-after one of us keeps a closer eye on him-we tell him then. He does have a right to know what shape his body is in. Right?" looking to each of his brothers for confirmation. They each nodded, then looked down at Aramis with a fond, exasperated smile.


	14. Chapter 14

The next time Aramis awoke was painful, the residual effects of his attempts to move from the previous day. The first thing he saw, or rather the first three things he saw when he opened his eyes, were his brothers' anxious eyes watching him.

He knew he was the cause of their anxiety, and in hindsight realized he had been very foolish in his action of trying to move so soon. His face must have revealed his guilt, because Athos took his hand and said, "We cannot blame you for wanting to know exactly what condition you are in, Aramis. Any one of us who was in the same position would probably have done the same thing, and we are not even the healer among us. You would have even more of a temptation than any of us, as you have so much understanding of injuries and what they can do. That said, I still have to say please do not frighten us like that again! Just ask?"

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment, then said, "I have definitely learned my lesson." Pausing, he then asked,"What state does Dr. Lemay say I am in, please?" looking at each of his brothers in a plea for honesty to his question.

"I will say first that he was very pleased that you have got your voice back. He told us he feared that you might have lost it permanently when he first examined you."

Shock registered on Aramis' face at this revelation. He closed his eyes for a moment, and in the silence of his mind, he wondered what had been done to have caused it, but didn't voice it aloud.

Porthos grabbed his brother's unoccupied hand and squeezed gently. "It's all right, mon ami. Take it slow. It's a lot to take in all at once."

Aramis' eyes opened once again, and he flashed Porthos a slight smile of gratitude for his words. His brothers knew him so well.

"Athos?" he asked, in the voice that was still barely above a whisper.

Athos knew what he was asking him, but again wished he wasn't the de facto leader of the Inseparables at this moment.

Then he began slowly, his heart hurting for the brother he loved so much. Just talking about what was done to him was too painful.

Before he began an accounting of what had been done to him, he spoke softly and, for a man who said he had no faith, with great conviction. "It is a miracle that you are with us again, Aramis. Each time we see you looking back at us, we realize the gift of your life that has been given back to us.

"They starved you, Aramis. They gave you barely enough food and water to keep you alive. We suspected as much from your body's condition. You were...still are...emaciated, and your skin was as dry as paper to the touch."

He stopped. He had known how hard this would be to talk about, but it was far worse than even he had thought. Most people, from Athos' outward demeanor, saw an emotionless man for the most part: cool, calm, detached. With his brothers, he was anything but that man, and his face showed his anguish at his words. He had barely begun, and wished he was finished already.

Then, he went on. "We believe they kept you bound and gagged or muzzled the entire time. We do not know if they feared someone hearing your cries, or just did it to be as cruel as possible. Given their torments upon you, it is likely that it was the latter."

Aramis interjected with a question. "Does Dr. Lemay believe that is why I lost my voice?"

"Yes," Athos continued, "but we are so grateful that it has come back."

Aramis again smiled at how much they cared about him. Then, "Please go on?"

With a long sigh, Athos continued. "I have never seen someone as tormented as you were, Aramis. To have done this, there had to have been an unbelievable amount of anger. Misplaced, of course, but someone clearly had to have done something to these men to draw this amount of fury at someone.

During the course of your captivity, you were subjected to beatings, a good many of them from looking at the bruising. They..." he couldn't go on.

Porthos took up the tale."They used knives and ... you had burns from something. We've never figured out what caused them. They staged a fake hanging, but to you, it would have been terrifyingly real because you had no way of knowing they wouldn't finish it." Tears were now running down Porthos' face at the sheer number of torments his brother had endured. "And you were flogged."

Porthos continued, "There were most likely other things that were not physical," stopping when he saw Aramis' questioning look. "Just the physical things they did tells me they probably constantly spoke harshly or shouted at you, too. You were surrounded for a whole month by men who probably let you know all the time what they thought of you, and that can be hard on a man's mind, too."

He stopped for a moment, as utter silence reigned in the room.

Athos continued the account, softer than Aramis had ever heard him speak. "But you were stronger than they thought," he said with pride in his brother for having that strength. "They tried so hard, but in the end, they were defeated when you held on long enough for us to find and take you home."

Again, there was silence in the room Then, Aramis spoke again. "I knew, from what my body was telling me, that it was bad. But I had no idea just how bad." Silence again, then, "Why?"

No one knew what to tell him.

After a short while, he spoke again. "Words do not convey what I feel right now. I am still confused as to why this happened. But one thing I do know. I feel..." closing his eyes for a moment as he was plainly exhausted from taking it all in, then opening them to look fondly at each one of his brothers, "I feel very loved," as his eyes closed in sleep once more.

They looked at each other in silence and smiled, the sadness of the previous few moments intermixed with the joy they felt that their beloved brother was healing...slowly, but healing all the same.

Porthos spoke softly, saying, "He will be avenged at the proper time. We will give him justice for all he has suffered at their hands."

Laying a hand on Aramis', d'Artagnan quickly laid his on Porthos', followed by Athos.

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When Aramis awoke several hours later, Porthos told him Serge had outdone himself again, playfully complaining, "Why are you his favorite? This cherry tart is mouthwatering, but he only made them for you!"

Aramis just smiled. He knew Serge openly treated him as his favorite, and no amount of talking to him over the years had ever made the slightest difference. So, he had just grown used to it, and loved the cantankerous old man even more.

Porthos asked him, "Do you mind if we keep your dinner back a while? We don't get to spend a lot of time with you sleeping so much." Pausing, "Not that we are complaining at your sleeping. It's the best thing for your healing. But we do miss your company, you know."

Aramis smiled again and nodded.

They kept the conversation off the whole subject of his ordeal, sharing tales of missions they had gone on and accomplished, lighthearted reminiscences of evenings spent at a favorite tavern, or an outrageous conquest of a card game bragged about by Porthos. Peals of laughter punctuated their evening, as each one of them then seemed to try to outdo the tale the previous one had regaled them with. It had been so long since they had enjoyed a relaxed evening together, and they really didn't want it to end, but they could see from Aramis' drooping eyelids just how tired he was, even though he protested when it was mentioned.

Serge had prepared a delicious beef stew, with plenty of potatoes and carrots thrown in. He seemed determined to put the proper weight back on his favorite Musketeer as fast as possible, Porthos said. Aramis just grinned and enjoyed it. He also enjoyed the cherry tart, while Porthos watched in mock frustration.

As usual, he had barely finished when he was asleep once more, the steady rise and fall of his chest in his breathing like a healing balm to his brothers' hearts.

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Athos was sitting quietly at the table with d'Artagnan an hour later, Porthos at Aramis' bedside.

D'Artagnan spoke up after they had been quiet for a while, the frustration plain in his voice. "Why, Athos? That's what I keep asking myself. And why that list of women's names found in that farmhouse? Has anyone tracked down who they were? And surely Aramis is not the first man in Paris with a nickname like "Ladies' Man"? Why were they so sure it was him?"

The questions came fast and one after the other. Athos just shook his head, understanding the younger man's frustration, but not having the answers at the moment.

"I do not know, d'Artagnan," he replied, "but believe me, we will get to the bottom of this mystery. These men will rue the day they hurt our brother. I promise him that."

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Emile and his band had been laying low after their raids of the week before. He was a very wily man, and knew they would be hunted. Meeting at the tavern near the eastern edge of Paris, he looked around at his men seated at the table, and said, "We have such an easy time with our escapades. It's amazing. The law has absolutely no idea who makes these raids. And as long as we space them out over time, and go to new areas each time, it will be very difficult to track us down. We have the perfect life, gentlemen," he boasted. "We look for new prey one week from today. Keep your eyes and ears open," lifting his cup in a mock toast to himself and his men, his boasting having no bounds. The man thought he would never be caught, and with each raid completed, their confidence increased.

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Treville and the Musketeers continued their hunt for clues to the men who had nearly killed Aramis. They canvassed Paris from one end to the other, but not a clue was run to earth. It was very frustrating. It was also a worry that the men who had done it were still on the loose, and could very well be in Paris at the moment. Treville kept double watches at the gates to the garrison, as a result.

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It wasn't until two days later that they had very disturbing news. A Red Guard had been attacked in an alleyway on the other side of the city. He had been nearly killed, and a note had been pinned to his jacket. "We will avenge the loss of our women upon the Musketeer and Red Guards who did the deed." Attached to the paper was a feather from Aramis' hat.


	15. Chapter 15

Next morning, as Porthos was giving Aramis his breakfast, a knock came at the door. After hearing about the note the day before that had been accompanied by the feather, Athos and d'Artagnan had their pistols leveled at the door as Athos called out, "Come in."

The door opened to a confused Constance, who stared at the weapons as they hurriedly put them away. D'Artagnan moved quickly to her side to explain their behavior.

"We have had word that the men who nearly killed Aramis are in Paris, and have attacked a Red Guard. They almost killed him, leaving a note with a feather from Aramis' hat with it."

While Constance was still absorbing this very disturbing news, d'Artagnan spoke again quickly. "This information, I don't need to tell you, cannot go any further than this room."

Nodding soberly, Constance moved past d'Artagnan to the bedside, her eyes sad at seeing Aramis still such a shadow of his usual self.

"The Queen asked me to come again and see if Aramis is still improving," then realized only Athos had any awareness of the Queen and Aramis, so she rushed on, "she and Louis appreciate how much all of you do to protect them, and want to be updated on the condition of their Musketeer," she finished rather lamely. "He is still skin and bones and so pale...and the amount of bandaging. Will his recovery be long?"

Athos answered for all of them, saying, "It will take a good amount of time before he will be back to normal, Constance, but the important thing is that he is on his way."

He had barely finished speaking when Aramis showed signs of awakening, his eyes once they were open still drowsy, but mostly alert as they focused on Constance.

She took his hand gently, and said, " I am so glad to hear that you may be out of danger, Aramis. The Queen sent me again to see how you were doing, and Athos has just told me that he is very encouraged at your progress. That is the best news I have heard in a long time, and I am sure the Queen will be full of joy at the news when I return."

Aramis started to say, "Please tell her...," but abruptly stopped as he looked up at Athos.

Athos at the moment, however, wanted to think of anything other than the subject that had precipitated his dear brother's disappearance. Reaching down, he gently clasped his brother's hand and squeezed. Athos, who alone of those in the room, knew why Aramis had stopped mid-sentence. He was remembering just how angry Athos had been before his disappearance, the long, heated arguments as his brother attempted to dissuade the feelings that Aramis found so hard to conceal when he was around Anne. Athos felt so bad that he was causing any hurt now to his brother. He had enough to deal with just fighting to get better. He knew that he would need to have a heart-to-heart with Aramis once he was more fully on the road to recovery.

Constance reached down for the small wrapped package she had brought with her. She started to give it to Aramis, but hesitated seeing his bandaged fingers, realizing he wouldn't be able to take the wrap off himself. D'Artagnan, realizing what she was thinking, reached over and lifted it onto his lap. He could see curiosity in Aramis' eyes,and loved the idea that the woman he loved had generated his brother's interest in the package.

Removing the wrap, he drew out a linen shirt that looked exactly like the shirt Aramis usually wore. Everyone broke into a smile when they saw it, including Aramis. He wasn't aware of the condition of the shirt delivered to them while he was missing. This was a beautifully sewn soft linen shirt with lace on the collar edges, obviously created by Constance herself. It was a beautiful gift, and from the look on Aramis' face, he loved it.

Constance left soon afterwards, promising to fill the Queen in on Aramis's condition, that he was getting better, but that it would be a very long road to recovery for him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos took over at Aramis' bedside after Constance left, his hand covering his brother's. They had given him dinner and his meds which, as usual, put him to sleep quickly.

He was so grateful that Aramis was finally beginning to recuperate. He had been so fearful that his brother would die. Watching him as he had lain still and silent for so long had broken his heart. And then, seeing the results of his nightmares, the dreams of what had happened to him that were locked away in his mind to be experienced over and over again every time he was unconscious or sleeping, had torn his heart.

Anyone who came near him as a threat would have to come through him, he silently promised both Aramis and himself. He would gladly give his life, if it was needed, to protect his brother, and he knew the others felt exactly the same way.

His mind turned to the perpetrators of this evil deed. Who were they? Why did they want to do these things to a man who had such compassion for others, who loved life and the people in it? As Athos had said earlier, something definitely had to have happened in their lives to cause them to snap, probably to someone they loved. But who and what had happened?

And now, the note and feather looked much like either a taunt or a threat to both the Musketeers and Red Guards. So there was more than one focus of their vendetta. And why would they think Musketeers and Red Guards would join together to commit whatever acts they were so incensed about? They obviously didn't know much of the history of the two garrisons to think they would ever work together.

He was sure that, with the full focus of their garrison on uncovering them, the men would not remain anonymous forever. But at the moment, with Aramis so totally unable to defend himself, he once more vowed that no one was going to enter this room and harm him again.

His free hand reaching to ruffle his brother's unruly curls, Porthos said softly, "You just get better, mon ami. We will deal with these men, I promise you that. They will rue the day they hurt you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Emile was working in the stables between missions, and his mind was busy as ever. He wondered how Aramis had been mistaken for someone in his group of men, and also wondered how to use it to his advantage.

He had taken a dislike to the good-looking Musketeer almost right from the first, not that he ever let anyone see that. He wouldn't admit, even to himself, that he was jealous of the attention Aramis received from the fairer sex without even seeming to invite it or be aware of it at times.

It angered him that he had to work harder to get a woman to notice him. He considered himself nice-looking, and pleasant-mannered. He was a ladies' man, he thought to himself. Then why didn't the women fawn all over him like they did Aramis, he growled to himself? In his anger, he slammed his shovel against the side of one of the stalls, frightening the horse penned inside. Realizing he would draw attention to himself if he wasn't careful, he soothed the frightened animal before continuing to work.

He also realized he would have to do something about the barmaid who had rather derisively referred to him as a ladies' man, when he had been out at the tavern in the eastern edge of Paris that he and his men had made a kind-of unofficial headquarters for their meetings. If anyone came to this out-of-the-way tavern that had, thus far, remained unobtrusive and ignored in the search for clues to the attack on Aramis, she just might remember saying that to him, and remember, as well, a good enough description of his features to get him arrested.

He would visit the tavern tonight, and with any luck, draw her away far enough to take care of that one threat that could unveil he and his men to the Musketeers searching for clues.

He had always prided himself on hiding his emotions. No one knew anything about him other than what he wanted them to know, which were the skills needed to perform his duties as a Musketeer without drawing attention to himself. When he and the others had begun their extracurricular activities, that reticence had assisted him in other ways, as well.

Even if the trail got closer to he and his group, he would probably be the last one suspected of anything. He smiled to himself, thinking it would make it easy to go on enjoying their activity for quite some time.

So far, he and his men had focused their attentions first on an area to the northeast of Paris, and having ferretted out any likely candidates there, had laid low for a couple of weeks, then moved to the southwest, in an opposite direction to throw off possible clues that would make it look like the same men. Most people tended to stay nearer to home than he did, and many owned no horses to move that easily about. He knew, though, that it wouldn't be that long before someone would make the connection in the way the attacks had been carried out.

Continuing to muse to himself as he worked, he decided they would ride again in two day's time, this time to the eastern farmlands. He loved the small isolated farms dotting the countryside. The farmers usually only heard what was happening in their small rural areas, so moving like this from time to time was perfect in that respect also. He congratulated himself smugly on the setup of their activities, and looked forward eagerly to their next foray. If women wouldn't look upon him with interest, he would make sure they gave him their full attention in these little 'visits'. His would be the last face they looked upon, too.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

. Serge softly knocked at the door, then came through, smiling when he saw Porthos holding Aramis' hand. Athos and d'Artagnan were sleeping on cots at the far end of the room.

Walking quietly to the bed so as not to disturb Aramis, Serge said to Porthos, "Cap'n wants you three downstairs in ten minutes. Wants to go over the search so far. He told me to stay with Aramis 'til you get back." He paused, then said, "And he told me not to let anyone argue with me about going, too," as if they just might have done that.

Porthos gave a big sigh, and reluctantly released Aramis' hand, laying it gently back on the bed. He then got up and went to the cots, laying a hand on each man's shoulder and rubbing to wake them up gently, not wanting either man to come awake thinking something was wrong.

Both looked up at him, a question in each man's eyes as they wondered why he would need to wake them.

Athos spoke first, saying, "Is something amiss with Aramis?" his eyes immediately seeking out his brother's still form.

Porthos hurriedly shook his head no, as d'Artagnan had already started to get up and go see.

"He's all right. Captain sent Serge to sit with Aramis. He wants us down in the compound in ten minutes with the rest of the men to go over things going on with the search so far."

"Nothing new has been found yet?" Athos questioned.

"Nothing that Serge has told me," Porthos responded.

They shrugged, not understanding. Both were ready to go in a few moments, as they had been sleeping fully-clothed. All three went out the door, and down the steps, leaving Serge with Aramis.

Serge smiled down at him fondly, holding Aramis' hand. "It's a downright shame this had to happen to you," he softly said. "Old Serge will take good care of you while they're gone. And I brung you something special, too, wait and see."

He laid the small, covered plate down on the bedside table, and waited for Aramis to awaken, happy to have thought of something new for his 'favorite' Musketeer, and didn't mind a wink if he needed to spoon-feed it to him. He would do anything for Aramis. The whole garrison knew that, and Aramis would love the blackberries in the tart, with the clotted cream on the top.


	16. Chapter 16

Serge figured he should probably give Aramis a little nudge as he wasn't waking up. Serge thought it wasn't too selfish in him to want to be the one to surprise him with the treat he had worked on since sun-up. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he gently rubbed it, and was reward a moment later when Aramis' eyes cracked open. Finding the old cook at his bedside, Aramis gave him a sleepy smile.

Serge responded with a big grin. "How would you like some of the treat I just finished baking just for you?" cocking one eye over to the bowl on the bedside table. At Aramis' definite look of both interest and hunger, Serge helped Aramis to sit a little higher to eat, plumping the pillows behind him.

Then, grabbing the bowl he dug into the tart, lifting a large spoonful up to give the injured Musketeer. But as soon as Aramis' eyes noticed the spoon they grew wild with fear, and he let out an anguished scream, his whole body trying desperately to back away. But he was too weak to move himself. His arm, weak and shaking, still managed to catch the edge of the bowl, sending it flying to the side where it hit the tray, and both of them slammed against the wall, then down to the floor with a clatter.

Aramis was shaking violently, saying, "No...please, no!", and Serge was stunned. What did he do? What was Aramis so afraid of?

He tried to comfort Aramis, but in his present state, all Aramis saw was a hand probably coming to restrain him and he tried again to get away, but without being able to do so. His eyes, filled with terror, had opened as wide as saucers and were darting to the right and left of Serge, but unable to escape.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Treville had his Musketeers in formation in much the same way as morning muster. He wanted to tell them the details of the case so far, figuring the more information, the more they could keep their eyes peeled for as they went about the city on duty.

Before Treville could even begin speaking, a scream of terror followed by a bang and a clatter grabbed all of them's attention.

Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan and Treville's heads whipped around, fear clutching at their hearts as Porthos voice spoke, "Aramis!". And with that, all four men flew up the stairs two steps at a time, throwing open Aramis' door and racing inside. They abruptly came to a halt in the doorway, staring at the scene in front of them.

Aramis was leaning as far towards the wall as he was able to go, his whole body trembling and eyes blown wide in fear, holding his hands out to ward off something. A confused and worried Serge was attempting to talk to him to assure him that he had nothing to fear. But Aramis wasn't listening.

A wooden tray and bowl lay on the floor, the bowl's contents splattered everywhere-and a telltale spoon lay a foot away.

It took them a split second to take this all in before racing for the bed. By this time, Aramis' breath was coming in great gasps from the rate his heart was racing. Porthos approached him slowly, not wanting to frighten him any further. He could see from the way his friend's eyes were darting around that he wasn't completely lucid at the moment. He kept up a quiet but steady stream of talk as he came, hoping to get through to him. "It's all right, Aramis. Serge didn't know. He didn't know. He just wanted to surprise you with a treat." But Aramis was not yet at the point to comprehend anything past his fear. Halting by the bedside, he kept talking, not making any more moves to startle his traumatized brother. Gradually, the quiet voice and lack of movement must have got through to Aramis, because they could all see his breathing calming down. Porthos waited still further, wanting to give him enough space to recognize his surroundings and his brothers. At last, Aramis' eyes met his, and Porthos sat down on the bed, gathered his brother in his arms and hugged him close to his chest. Aramis was now still, his breathing coming back to normal but his heart still pumping too fast.

While Porthos had been trying to calm Aramis down, Athos quietly bent to retrieve the offending spoon and, walking to the door, opened it and flung the utensil as far away as he was able. He nearly slammed the door, he was so upset by the trauma his brother was in and his frustrations at their not being able, thus far, to resolve the issue, but he stopped himself just in time, easing the door shut quietly behind him.

They were all gathered around his bedside now, worry and anger conflicting images on their faces. They were worried that the fear had returned after they had been so relieved at its absence as their brother began to recover. All of them also were boiling with anger towards the men who had instilled this uncharacteristic fear in him.

When Aramis' heart rate had gone back to normal, Porthos still stayed on the bed with him in his arms. Aramis looked up at him and asked, "What happened?", his face a picture of confusion.

Athos answered, saying, "We do not know, Aramis, except that it is probably something done to you by your kidnappers. We will get to the bottom of it, rest assured of that." He was already wondering whether it might not be prudent to try talking to Aramis and seeing if he might be brought to remember what had been done to him by the spoon. Athos figured it couldn't do any more harm to him than having these incidences occur and traumatizing him so badly. He would talk to Porthos and d'Artagnan once Aramis was safely asleep once more that evening. If they decided on doing it, he knew they needed to go very slowly and carefully for their brother's sake.


	17. Chapter 17

D'Artagnan walked a shaky Serge back down to the kitchens, the old man not understanding what had happened. D'Artagnan filled him in, and Serge was shocked. No one had told him, or he never would have brought a spoon near Aramis, he asserted. He would never do anything to hurt him. D'Artagnan told him they had meant to let him know, but between round the clock bedside care and exhaustion from worrying, as well, they had let the matter slip. He told Serge they all felt awful that he had to experience something like that when he had only wanted to surprise Aramis.

Serge said it wasn't their fault. He knew how much they loved their brother, as he loved him, too. "Don't worry your heads about it," he told d'Artagnan, before heading back into the kitchens to fix the garrison's next meal.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back at Aramis' bedside, as Aramis succumbed to sleep, Porthos looked up at Athos, his face a picture of guilt. "That was my fault."

"Porthos...," Athos started.

"No, Athos, if I'd followed through and told Serge, Aramis wouldn't have had to go through this. I failed him," he said, hanging his head.

Athos responded, "We have all been exhausted, Porthos, you know that. But we would not have it any other way. We do not want to be asleep in case he needs us. Even though we take turns being with him and sleeping, we do not truly sleep, as our minds are alert in case he needs us. You did not mean to forget. Mistakes happen. Do not blame yourself. Aramis would tell you that if he was himself. You know that, too."

Porthos nodded, but still felt if he had remembered to say something, the whole episode would have been avoided.

They sat in companiable silence watching their brother quiet and at rest after the latest trauma. After they were positive that Aramis was sound asleep, Athos asked his brothers to sit down at the small table against the wall so they could talk. Curious, they did so, eyebrows raised in question.

"I am thinking it may be better to try getting Aramis to remember a few things from the time of his captivity, in particular this spoon fear he has, but we would need to go very slowly. I do not think it could hurt him much more than he already is, and it could possibly help matters."

Porthos and d'Artagnan were quiet for a few moments, before d'Artagnan spoke. "I think you may be right. He can't keep going through these reactions. It hinders his recovery. And seeing his expression afterwards, he is so confused. The reaction is pure instinct. Aramis has no idea once it's over of what happened or why. I think it can only help him if he knows."

Porthos slowly nodded, saying, "I hate to see the fear. It's not like him. If he was well, he'd be the first to tell us that. And we can't keep spoons out of sight when he gets well enough to eat with the garrison. I say maybe we go ahead and work with his memory."

"Let us hope the results are positive," Athos quietly commented, before picking up his cup and moving over to sit once more beside his sleeping brother.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos' guilt was still eating him alive. If only, he thought, if only I hadn't driven him out of the garrison that night into a month of a living nightmare. A nightmare that was still with him. He slowly rubbed his hand down the side of his face, his other clasping his slumbering brother's.

Why am I so self-righteous, he asked himself. I, who tried to hang my own wife, the woman I had been in love with. I have no right to judge others. I drove the brother I love to distraction with my judgements.

He knew Aramis really love the Queen. His feelings for her were so unlike those he had sometimes glimpsed when Aramis was leaving for the evening to meet one of his 'temporary' ladies. He could see the depth of emotions his brother had for his forbidden love, and knew deep inside how difficult such a situation could be. Aramis couldn't completely hide the love in his heart, and for a woman for whom it was treason to even have such thoughts directed her way.

It would have been dangerous enough at any time, but with Rochefort constantly whispering in Louis' ear, they couldn't take any chances. The man was evil as well as vicious, his own interests his only aim. If Aramis fell suspect with Rochefort, with the influence the man had over Louis, the consequences could quickly become deadly for his brother.

Athos had seen some of the looks Rochefort had given to Anne. The man fancied himself in love with his Queen. But where Aramis and Anne's stolen glances were filled with the love they couldn't keep inside completely, Rochefort's made even Athos' skin crawl. He couldn't imagine how Anne felt if she ever caught glimpses of Rochefort's looks. The man fancied himself in love with her, but the glances he gave her showed more in the way of an obsession. And anyone coming between him and the object of his obsession wouldn't stand a chance against the man while Louis favored him.

Athos couldn't really blame Aramis any more. How could he, when he had known love at one time? True love didn't come often enough, and when it did, it was to be treasured. He could recognize that love in the stolen glances he witnessed at times between Aramis and Anne. They couldn't seem to help it,either. That told him all the more how genuine the emotions he was witnessing were. But, because of that fact, they needed to keep Aramis away from Anne as much as possible. If Rochefort were to see even one of the glances, there would be trouble such as they had never known, as a result. Aramis' life would be forfeit, for sure, and maybe even Anne's. Louis would never stand for being made to look less than a man in the court's eyes, and would execute Aramis quickly at Rochefort's suggestion.

Athos mind then turned, as he was sure his brothers did also, to who and why. Who had done this, and why? What reason did they think they had?

He had thought about it so much, and realized it couldn't be the husband of any of Aramis' lovers. For one thing, he had completely stopped seeing anyone since the night at the convent. It was another reason he knew their love was true. It had been many months since he had taken off during the evenings for a rendez-vous with anyone. Instead, he had accompanied them to the various taverns they visited in the evening to share some lightheartedness with them over a tankard of ale or wine.

A jealous husband, for one thing, would have taken action long before now. The action would more than likely have been a thorough beating in a dark alley, or a knife when he wasn't looking. It would be something quick, not a long, drawn-out captivity, such as had been visited upon Aramis.

He went over again the meager clues they had to solve the question.

The paper found when the Musketeers had combed the farmhouse from top to bottom. Several women's names. Ladies' man. Retribution.

Then, the note with a feather from Aramis' hat attached. The loss of our women. Musketeer and Red Guards.

Obviously, the men who had perpetuated this believed Aramis and some Red Guards had done something to women who were dear to them. Whoever they had mistaken Aramis for had masterminded an attack on helpless women. Had they raped them, beaten them, killed them? There were so many unanswered questions.

And who was the leader? The man nicknamed Ladies Man? And was he truly a Musketeer? Or was he masquerading as a Musketeer for some reason? To blacken the Musketeers reputation in the eyes of the King, or the people?

If one of their garrison was indeed this evil man, who could it be? He didn't want to believe that any of the men he knew and had fought with could terrorize helpless women, as the notes suggested. But there were also men here who had not been with them as long, and he didn't work with them that much, as he and his brothers were almost always given missions to carry out together.

Rubbing his thumb gently in circles on the back of Aramis' hand in a soothing motion, Athos silently vowed to keep his brother safe-from Rochefort, and also from the paralyzing fears he suffered from what he had undergone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Several hours later, he felt Aramis stirring. "Are you awake, brother?" he gently asked him.

Aramis eyes, drowsy from sleep, opened and he smiled as he gazed up at Athos. Then, as if he had remembered what happened before he had fallen asleep, his brows furrowed together, and a look of confusion filled his features.

"Athos, what happened before I slept? Why can't I remember?"

Athos heaved a great sigh, and leaned towards his brother, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead. It was now or maybe never, he thought.

"We would like to help you to remember, Aramis. Is that all right with you?"


	18. Chapter 18

After Athos asked him if they could help him remember, Aramis was silent for a few moments. Then, he nodded slowly. Athos smiled, and called Porthos and d'Artagnan over.

"I would like to try something, and need all of us to gather around Aramis," Athos told them, not elaborating any further.

Athos was already clasping Aramis' right hand. Knowing how difficult this could be for Aramis, Porthos reached out and took Aramis' other hand, while d'Artagnan laid his hand gently on his right shoulder. Neither of them knew what Athos had in mind yet.

Athos smiled at Aramis and spoke softly. "Aramis, I know you love all of us as we love you." Aramis smiled in agreement.

"You trust us also, do you not?" he asked. Aramis slightly frowned at the question, not knowing why that would need to be confirmed, as it never had to be before. His look was now questioning as he looked at Athos.

"Because of what I would like to try in an attempt to take away your fear, I ask this. I know you trust us, as we do you also. I just would like you to remember that trust completely now."

Aramis again nodded, still not understanding, but knowing his brothers would never do anything to bring him harm or fear.

"I am going to show you something, and I would like for you to keep your eyes focused on my face as you see it come into your view, and remember your love and trust. Can you do that?"

Starting to really wonder where this was leading, Aramis still nodded slowly.

Porthos had now seen what Athos had concealed below the range of sight of their brother. He was afraid of Aramis' reaction, but understood what Athos was going to attempt to do. He hoped with all his heart it would work, as otherwise, it could throw Aramis into a tailspin of fear again.

"Remember, Aramis, never let my face out of your sight, no matter what, all right? And remember your trust."

Aramis and Athos' eyes were locked on each other as Athos slowly lifted the spoon towards his own face. At first, Aramis didn't notice anything. But then, as it came into his line of sight, all three of his brothers felt the tenseness come into his whole body and the fear entering his eyes.

Aramis' heart began beating so fast he couldn't get his breath. All he could see was an object that had caused him terror and pain. He stared at it,his eyes widening from the panic he was experiencing. At the moment, he felt alone and cold all over.

"Aramis...Aramis!" Athos spoke urgently, but Aramis wasn't hearing him.

Helpless. He was alone and helpless. In the dark. He couldn't see anything. He had no idea how long he had been down here. No light. No sound, except for his own breathing. No food. No water. Left to die? He didn't know.

Panic. He tried not to panic. But he didn't know what to think.

He heard something. Booted feet. Coming towards him. Light. Sudden. Illuminating the dark. Light that caused his eyes pain from having been in darkness for such a long time. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Sound. Boots! Coming closer. Slowing down. Encircling him. Hands. Cruel fingers that pressed into his skin. Dragged him upright. His head spun. Having been prone for so long it made him dizzy. He squinted against the light. Light from lanterns held by two of the men.

A man's face in his. Shaggy, black-winged brows. Furrowed in anger. At him. Growling at him in anger, face red. Why?

Aramis was shivering at the memories flooding into his mind.

"Aramis!" Athos called urgently, but Aramis was unable to hear him.

Food. The man was talking about food. Giving him food? To keep him from dying. He was dying? Not finished with you, the man said.

Movement behind him. His mouth was free. But numb. Dry.

A spoon appeared. And a bowl. The spoon was in his mouth. But he was too dry. He couldn't swallow. Too dry. The spoon came again. And again. But he couldn't swallow.

The man was in his face again. Angrier. Swallow. Shouting at him. Not allowed to die. Swallow or else. Threats.

He tried. He really did. But his throat wouldn't respond.

Black-wing nodded. The spoon was pushed further into his mouth. Still couldn't swallow. The spoon forcing contents down his throat. Choking. Horrible choking. Food coming back up. Over and over. Agony.

Aramis' memories were so frightening, he was shaking, his eyes tight closed and tears leaking from under his eyelids. "P...please, no more. Please!" he begged.

"ARAMIS!" Athos called, his voice verging on a rarely-heard edge of panic. "Aramis, please look at me! Aramis!"

Dimly, Aramis could hear a voice. Confused, he tried to open his eyes. The fear kept them closed, though. The voice kept calling him, and now he heard other voices, familiar voices, beloved voices, urgently asking him to open his eyes.

He was so tired. It would be so easy to just let his mind surrender to the pull of sleep, sleep away from the images that frightened him. But the voices continued, voices he loved.

He wanted to respond now, but the urge to sleep was so strong, his eyes stayed closed.

"ARAMIS!" three voices spoke loudly as one. His brothers! They were the ones calling him! Something must be wrong! He needed to help them.

Using every ounce of the little strength he currently had, he struggled, and, after failing to open his eyes the first time he tried, succeeded in cracking them open once more.

"Aramis, can you hear me? See me? Please?" Athos' voice once again urgently spoke to him. He could hear Porthos and d'Artagnan's worried voices, as well. Having almost no energy left, Aramis pushed himself to nod.

"Keep your eyes on me, Aramis. I love you. Porthos and d'Artagnan are here, too. You can feel your hand in mine, and your other in Porthos' hand. D'Artagnan's hand is upon your shoulder. We love you. I ask you again. Do you trust us?" Athos was squeezing his hand gently as he watched the fear in Aramis' brown eyes at the sight of the spoon held next to his brother's face.

Aramis' face revealed how afraid he was, and his body was trembling, but his eyes never wavered from Athos'.

"We would never do anything to hurt you. Used in the wrong way, anything can be an instrument to hurt someone. This spoon is only used for eating Serge's delicious meals. You know that. It is being held near my face. I am not afraid of it, and you do not need to be afraid of it any more either, Aramis. Trust us."

He could see Aramis' eyes gazing at him as he kept up a steady stream of speech, and could tell just the moment when his words started to break through and take hold in his brother. He could see the fear easing up. In his peripheral vision, he saw Porthos nod his head. The terrible tenseness was also leaving Aramis' body.

Then, Aramis eyes moved from Athos' face to Porthos, and then to d'Artagnan as he took a deep breath, and let it out shakily. Athos lowered the spoon. He leaned down and softly kissed Aramis on the forehead, Porthos and d'Artagnan following quickly after him.

Athos knew he needed to ask his next question now, even though he knew it would be hard on Aramis. He needed to find out if Aramis had retained what he had been experiencing a few moments ago, and he needed to do it now before it could recede into the back of his mind again-and once again crop up later, endlessly tormenting his brother in nightmares. But he hated that he had to do it.

Heaving a big sigh, he spoke once again.

"Aramis, may I ask you something? You do not have to answer if you do not want to. But I think it will help you to get these dreams out of your mind."

Aramis' now-weary eyes were still fixed on his brother's face. Not completely understanding what Athos was talking about, he still knew he trusted his brothers. So he once more nodded his head.

Again, Athos took a deep breath to steady himself, then began, speaking slowly. "Aramis, did you have a memory of what happened?" Silence, then Aramis nodded.

"Do you remember what you saw?" There was a much longer silence. "It is all right, Aramis. You do not have to answer."

His brother's pained eyes still focused on him. "Yes."

"Do you think you might be able to tell us what you saw? Only as much as you feel that you can."

They could see that he was growing very tired. The silence was so pronounced this time that Athos said, "It is fine, Aramis. You do not have to do anything. You have been through so much. Rest now, brother."

He started to stand up to stretch his body, but felt a hand hesitantly touch his arm. Startled, he looked down, as Aramis said, "I think I need...I need to...", and stopped.

Athos realized that Aramis was agreeing only because his brother had asked him, so he once again demurred, saying, "It is a very difficult thing for you to do, Aramis. Maybe we can do it later."

But Aramis spoke, saying, "I need to...to do it now, Athos."

Sitting back down, Athos took his brother's hand again, saying, "Take it slowly, Aramis. Stop whenever you have gone as far as you can. We are here for you."

Silence again. Then, in a barely audible voice, Aramis began.

"It was...so dark...and cold. I...couldn't s...see anything." The stutter was so unlike Aramis, a sign of his fear, they each thought to themselves.

"I...couldn't move. Then...I h..heard them...coming." He spoke with hesitation, unlike their Aramis, too. He went on slowly.

"They c...circled me, just...standing there." He stopped. Athos squeezed his hand gently.

"You do not have to do this, Aramis. We can try later if you would like."

But Aramis shook his head. "Need to...do this n...now."

"Very well. But remember that you can stop any time you wish."

He paused, and they waited with him.

"One of them said, 'So you...you're still alive,'...and h..he laughed." His brothers were furious. How could they treat him this way?

"I f..felt hands on me, pull..." he paused again. "They pulled m..me up, b..but I couldn't s..stand...and they laughed again."

"The man w..who was the leader said, 'Got to get some food in you. C..can't have you dying on us. We have t..too many lessons for you yet.' Porthos cringed, remembering the reaction he caused Aramis when he had used that word.

Aramis' stuttering was starting to lessen, but his voice was becoming ever quieter.

"But you get as little as we f..figure will keep you alive, at least until we're f..finished with you," the leader said.

"One of them lifted a bowl and dipped the s..spoon it. He put it in my mouth, but I was t..too dry to swallow."

"Make him eat it," the leader said,snarling.

"They pushed the food down my throat, but I kept choking, and it kept coming back up because my throat was too dry." His stuttering came back more strongly now. " Then, they p..pushed the s..s..spoon d..down my throat to f..force it. Th..th.." He couldn't go on.

All of his brothers were beside themselves with anger. Aramis was breathing very fast, his panic evident. Athos cupped Aramis' cheek and again gently squeezed his hand, while Porthos and d'Artagnan also soothed their shaken brother.

They could see that Aramis,even though it was so traumatic for him, wanted to finish.

"Th..they did this so m..many times when they b..brought food." He told them he came to dread hearing them coming, even though he felt starved and thirsty and needed the nourishment.

"And then, th..they b..began h..hurting me. They did so m..many th..things. Th..they s..seemed to e..enjoy it. I ca...I can't...," and then he couldn't go on. Tears were now slowly making their way down his cheeks, and he was sobbing.

They were all silent after that,emotions running very high. Then,in a very hesitant voice, Aramis asked, "Show it to me again?"

Porthos immediately spoke up. "Aramis, you don't have to do that. Once was bad enough for you."

But Aramis repeated his request haltingly, saying, "I need to ... get past this. I can't go through ...the rest of my life avoiding ... eating utensils like a small child." Then, looking again at Athos, he said, "Please", very softly once more.

Athos slowly lifted the spoon, holding it in front of him. Their brother was silent for a few moments. Then, to their complete surprise, Aramis reached out his hand and touched the spoon, shuddering involuntarily as he did so. Then, he took hold of it for a moment, before letting it drop.

They were so proud of their brother, grins just split their faces. It had been very courageous for him to do that, and their hopes grew even more for his complete recovery.

Once he had let it go, Aramis let out a deep breath, and closed his eyes, exhaustion finally claiming him.


	19. Chapter 19

Aramis slept for hours, peacefully and without any nightmares. The extremely painful ordeal he had gone through seemed to have finally worked, and his brothers were so thankful.

They figured he had to be waking up soon, so d'Artagnan went down to Serge to see if he had any special meal he could fix for Aramis when he finally did wake up. While he was there, he took the time to share with Serge what had happened about the spoon. Serge's face cracked open into a big smile when he heard.

"You think we should put a spoon on the tray then?" he asked hesitantly.

"I will bring it separately, and let Athos decide," the Gascon replied, not wanting any part of making that decision.

Serge outdid himself, producing a mouth-watering beef stew with the little mushrooms Aramis liked so much. He also had baked a tart stuffed full of peaches and apples. D'Artagnan grabbed the tray and headed back to Aramis' room arriving just as his sleepy brother was awakening. He waited at the door,as he could see that Athos and Porthos were talking with him.

"How do you feel, Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"Did I sleep for a long time?" Aramis answered with a question.

"Why would you ask that?" Porthos continued the questions.

"I feel like I've been asleep forever," Aramis answered. "But it feels good."

He no sooner said that, though, than his face scrunched up when he tried to shift his position.

"Now, you know better than that, mon ami," Porthos chided.

"I had a cramp in my side," Aramis replied.

"And you tell us whenever we are laid up to stay still and let you do the moving, right?" Porthos teased. Aramis rolled his eyes,and they were all delighted at the familiar banter going on.

Porthos eased Aramis up a little, tucking a pillow in back of him for support, while d'Artagnan caught Athos' attention.

Taking Athos aside, he told him what Serge had asked. Athos took the spoon and approached Aramis' bedside.

"Serge has made you a beef stew that I would like to steal from you, brother," he said, causing Aramis to grin sleepily. "Do you think..."

Aramis answered before Athos could finish his sentence. "A spoon would be needed to enjoy it?" This time, it was Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan who grinned.

Athos was still a little hesitant when it came to feeding him. He knew he would be a little shy of going near the utensil, if he had undergone what Aramis had. But Aramis showed no fear or hesitation at all, to all of them's relief.

He enjoyed the stew, and both to Porthos' happiness and regret, as his mouth had been watering at how good it would taste, enjoyed both of the tarts that were offered to him. As usual, he fell asleep right afterward.

Athos spoke to the others after he thought Aramis was sound asleep.

"I do not think we should bring the subject of his ordeal up again for a while. He is doing well, and I do not want to chance causing him any more mental anguish."

A sleepy voice spoke up behind them. "Black wings."

All three of them turned, quite surprised to see their brother's eyes open again.

Coming back around the bed, Athos asked, "What is black wings, Aramis?"

"The man who was the leader," Aramis mumbled, before this time really falling asleep.

He left his brothers looking at each other with puzzled faces.

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Emile took extra care of his appearance before leaving the garrison that evening. There was a pretty young bar maid who had just started at the out-of-the-way tavern he and his friends frequented.

Emile looked in the mirror and thought to himself, she won't be able to resist me. He had always known that he had inherited his father's good looks, and never could understand when every woman he showed attention to didn't indicate any attraction for him.

It usually triggered one of their long raids into the country. If a woman didn't show good enough sense to know when a handsome man was paying her attention, his dark side seemed to come out then. He wanted to find someone who would have to pay attention to him as soon as possible,and usually several someones.

With a jaunty step, he left his room,and headed for the far side of Paris once again, his confidence still not dented by the rejections he sometimes got. She will love me, he thought arrogantly as he walked through the streets.

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Treville came to see how Aramis was later that day, and was very pleased at what had progressed. He thought 'just maybe the luck Aramis had always had was pulling him through once again'.

He pulled Athos and Porthos aside, leaving d'Artagnan to sit beside Aramis, and went over to the table at the other side of the room.

Speaking in a quiet voice, he said, "We have found out that there have been at least three series of attacks in the past six months by a small group of men. I am thinking they may be related to what happened to Aramis, as in one of the attacks, one of the men foolishly wore part of a Red Guard uniform."

He had Athos and Porthos' full attention now. "What happened in these attacks, Captain?"

"Each raid lasted several days apparently. They invaded several farmhouses, one after another, tore apart the rooms, brutalized and raped the women they found there, sometimes for a day or more each time. The men at each location were in Paris or other cities with large marketplaces selling their crops, so the women were quite alone when they were attacked.

Each series of raids was in a completely different direction from Paris, as if they thought they were throwing off the scent anyone who might be trying to figure things out. This last series was just as brutal as the other two, but only lasted a couple of days before they must have left the area."

Athos had been quiet during the whole recital, but spoke up now. "I am wondering if perhaps some of the men of these women's families have become vigilantes."

"I've sent men to each of the areas, with instructions to ferret out any information they can find," Treville responded. "We will get to the bottom of this, and these fiends will rue the day they attacked a Musketeer."

"We may, or may not, learn more when Aramis awakens, too," Athos said, causing Treville's eyes to sharpen as he listened.

"How so?" he asked.

Before he fell asleep, he said 'black wings'. Since it means nothing to any of us, we figure it just may be something about the time he was being held. We can ask him when he wakes up later," Athos said.

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Towards evening, Porthos was sitting with Aramis, while Athos and d'Artagnan got a little rest on the other side of the room. It had been a quiet, uneventful day, for which they were happy.

Just as the sun went down, though, a very loud bang happened, sounding like it came from within the garrison grounds. Aramis, who had been so peacefully sleeping, came awake wide-eyed and twisting his hand around in Porthos' grasp, then tightening his grip in fear.

"What...?" he said, looking around the room frantically to find the source of the noise.

Porthos spoke quietly and calmly, soothing his brother who had no idea what the noise was that had awakened him. It took quite a while, but he finally became still, looking to Porthos to explain what had happened.

"I think one of the stable hands had slippery fingers, Aramis," said Porthos, "that's where the sound came from."

Aramis was quiet, controlling the breathing that had been so erratic a few moments before. Then, he lay with his eyes closed for a few moments before looking again at Porthos with sad eyes.

"What's wrong, Aramis?", Porthos could see something was very much upsetting his friend, and hoped he would talk to him about it.

Aramis was quiet a little longer, and then spoke barely above a whisper, "I'm a Musketeer, Porthos. I've never been afraid ... never reacted ... like that."

Porthos smiled, understanding dawning. "Aramis, you went through an ordeal you and no one else here has ever experienced. You very nearly didn't survive it, mon ami. It's not surprising that you would react like that," squeezing his hand.

Aramis wasn't convinced, though. "How can I be a Musketeer now if I am afraid of harmless noises, sounds that I would never have given a second's notice to before? What they did to me changed me. I'm jumping at shadows. How can I defend Louis and Anne if I am afraid of everything?"

"Aramis, you have to give it time," Porthos said. "You were tortured and nearly killed by men who worked very hard to terrorize you to death. It's only a wonder that you have survived. But you did survive because of the heart of a brave Musketeer is beating within you. That heart is stronger than anything they did to you. Give it time, and you will be that fearless Musketeer once again. Just let your body heal first, all right?"

Aramis' gaze stayed on his brother's for a long time, not saying anything. The words seemed to soothe him, though, as he finally gently squeezed his brother's hand, and said, "You, Athos and d'Artagnan are what brought me through. I kept my mind on all of you through everything they did. I wanted so much to come ... home," a solitary tear making its way down his face as he spoke.

"And you did, mon ami. You showed a strength very few men could ever have been able to. You made it back to us. We couldn't have survived without you, you know."

Athos, who had heard much of what they had been discussing came over now and said softly, "You held out until we could find you, Aramis. That is the act of someone who wants to live, and one who loves his brothers as we do you. Never make the mistake of thinking you are not one of the bravest of His Majesty's Musketeers. The thought does not do you the justice you so richly deserve from all the years of your service."

At Athos' words, Aramis finally let out a long sigh, this time of peace.

Athos a little hesitantly asked, "Aramis, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Not at all," came the reply.

"Before you fell asleep, you said something. Do you remember?"

Aramis was silent a moment, but then shook his head regretfully.

"You said 'black wings'. Does that mean something to you?"

Aramis was again silent, then quietly spoke in a pained voice. "The man...the leader. He had thick, black brows. Like black wings."

Athos smiled at him, saying, "This is very good, Aramis. This may prove very helpful to us. We, until now, knew nothing whatever of what any of your kidnappers looked like. A feature on a man such as this would be very easy to recognize. It may assist us in finally getting a lead on who they are. When we do find them, they are going to be very sorry they encountered us, I promise you that."


	20. Chapter 20

The following day, Treville received a report of a murder at a tavern on the eastern outskirts of Paris. A young barmaid had been brutally killed in the alleyway behind the tavern. He sent a couple of Musketeers to question anyone who might have been a witness, or had heard anything suspicious in the tavern. Shaking his head, he thought about the young woman's family having to be told that she had been killed.

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D'Artagnan was once again ready with a morning meal for Aramis when he woke up, bringing a smile to his brother's face seeing just how much they were caring for him. The porridge was full of spiced apples-Serge sure knew Aramis' favorites.

Porthos lifted him up slightly to eat, while Athos plumped the pillows behind him. Aramis enjoyed every bit of the meal. When he was finished, Porthos was going to lower him back flat on the bed, but Aramis surprised him by asking if he could stay raised up for a while. Porthos couldn't help but smile at the first signs of his brother's not wanting to follow doctor's orders, which was typically Aramis. But he left him where he was, as he desired.

It wasn't long, though, before his eyelids began to droop, and when his head began to nod, Porthos lowered him back down on the bed. Aramis was asleep when his head reached the pillow.

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He slept for several hours, and awoke to Athos at his side. He gave him a smile, as he felt his hand held firmly in his brother's clasp.

"Serge has been here again, and left you another delicious dessert, Aramis," Athos said, producing a small bowl. Aramis smiled, and asked, "What this time?"

"He calls it a compote, something new he tried. Pears cooked in sugar syrup and spices, he said. Would you like to try some?"

Porthos reached the bedside at the same time as Aramis' eager nod. He once again lifted him up to eat. He made short work of the compote, telling them to give his compliments to Serge for the treats he kept producing.

Athos asked him, "Aramis, do you mind my asking some more questions?"

At Aramis' curious gaze, he explained, "We would really like to find the people who did this to you. If you feel up to it, I could ask you a few things that might help."

At a nod from his brother, Athos asked him, "Aramis, do you remember anything else about what your captors looked like?"

Aramis started to shake his head, but stopped and thought, then said, "They looked...like farmers," and the way he said it was almost in disbelief.

"Farmers?" Porthos asked.

"Yes," was the reply. "They wore the same clothes common farmers wear. They were all big men too, muscular, like they did hard labor."

Athos decided to tell Aramis what Treville had shared with them about what his men had discovered.

Aramis stared at him, asking,"They think I would have something to do with that?" He was clearly very confused at the information.

Athos wasn't sure of how much to tell him when his brother was still trying to recover. But he knew Aramis, and his brother wouldn't be satisfied until he had answers.

"The note you were told about earlier referred to a "Ladies' Man". There was another note we received which talked about a Musketeer and three Red Guards they are after. You do have a reputation as somewhat of a ladies' man, and if one of these men had heard you talked about in some tavern in Paris, they may have figured you were the man they were looking for. A Red Guard was also attacked a few days ago. The men are obviously in Paris. We do not know, however, who the real culprits are that you were mistaken for. But we will find out, Aramis, I give you my word on that."

He didn't tell Aramis about the feather stuck in the note they had received. His brother had enough to deal with as it was, without adding to it, and he didn't want to bring back the nightmares again.

Aramis fell asleep almost as soon as Athos finished speaking, and Athos remained by his side.

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Emile met his men at another out-of-the-way tavern that night, figuring he shouldn't frequent the usual one for a while. They ordered their ales and the men waited for him to tell them why he had requested the meeting.

"We ride tonight. Northeast of Paris, lovely little farmlands. I checked this site out myself. There are several good possibilities there."

They all knew something must have triggered this suggestion, as Emile had never before reconnoitred an area himself, always sending one of the others to do it. He was also barely containing his anger about something as he spoke. They could hear it in his voice, see it in the tenseness of his body, especially his shoulders. None of them questioned him, though. They knew his temper, as each of them had experienced it at one time or another.

They also wondered if it had anything to do with the young barmaid who had been found raped and killed behind their usual meeting place. Emile had been very attentive to her, but she had shown no interest at all, even telling him to leave her alone several times during the evening. He would not have taken that well at all. The brutality of the attack had all the hallmarks of what he did, what they all did, when they made their forays into the countryside farms.

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Next afternoon, Treville drew Athos from Aramis' side to speak with him.

At Athos' questioning look, Treville began. "My men discovered something this morning, and I don't like it at all."

Athos' eyebrows raised, waiting for Treville to continue.

"A witness to the killing of the barmaid was discovered. He is a young lad. He was going to a clandestine rendezvous with a young lady he is interested in. I'm not sure why he was doing so in such a run-down, crime-ridden area of Paris, but he says he did see much of the assault as well as the killing. He told us he also saw the killer's face. He told my men he felt so sorry for the barmaid, but was too much afraid of the attacker to speak up and interfere."

Treville hesitated. It wasn't easy to relate what he needed to say next. He took a deep breath and went on.

"He described the man very well. It seems the tavern had a lantern above the back door for the patrons who had "urgent" business, so he could see the killer clearly. He told of the color of his eyes and hair, what he was wearing, including a very distinctive scarf and hat."

Here, he hesitated again. He was so disgusted at what he was about to say, and his face reflected his emotions.

"Athos, the man wore a medium-brown hat with a peacock feather as well as two bright green feathers. His scarf was the same shade of brown, with the same shade of green as the hat knit into it. Does that sound like anyone we know?", his face now furious.

Athos was stunned. "Emile."

"Unfortunately. I have never seen any man wearing those colors in tandem, but he does every time he leaves in the evening when he is off-duty. I have heard that he has been teased for tryingt to match the color of his hair and eyes in them. The facial features described also sound like Emile. This is a very sad day for our regiment. To think someone has dishonored it in this way disgusts me no end. I intend to be at the head of my men when we track him down and bring him in.

I am also going to check again into the references he gave when he joined the regiment. One other thing. The killing of the barmaid was strikingly similiar to some of the attacks that have been going on at the outlying farms. He may very well be the Musketeer Aramis was nearly killed for."

Athos was speechless for a moment. He was rarely at a loss for words, but this was unbelievable. It was also totally against the entire way of life of the Musketeers. Why? he asked himself.

"I have been keeping an eye on Emile for some time now, after an incident had been reported to me about him. Seems he was interested in another barmaid some months ago, who showed no return interest. A witness saw him forcing himself on her later that night. So the character traits of the killer fit him."

Treville spoke again. "I do not need to tell you to keep Aramis under a very close guard until we have brought this vermin to justice. Living in the garrison, Emile has undoubtedly heard much of what we have learned of both the farm attacks and the one at the tavern, so he is even more dangerous than before. He has no idea whether Aramis' kidnappers might not have talked about who they are after, or that he may have more of a description of them than we have. He is off today, and we have no idea where he is or what he might be doing with his time. Just keep a good eye out," turning on his heel and heading back to his office.

Athos slowly went back inside. Porthos and d'Artagnan noticed right away the different mood he was in. Porthos came over and said,"What happened?"

Athos didn't answer for a moment, then quietly said, "Not here. Come outside, Porthos. When we are finished, I will tell you as well, d'Artagnan." Then, he headed out the door again.

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When Aramis showed signs of awakening later, Athos gave both Porthos and d'Artagnan meaningful glances, reminding them to keep the mood light when their brother was conscious. They didn't need to add this disturbing development right now.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" Porthos said, as Aramis' eyes finally opened. "Want something to eat? Or you want me to tell you some tall tales? How about a little pillow plumping?" keeping up a steady stream of talk.

Aramis shook his head. He was silent for a few moments, and it was almost as if he was studying his brothers. They knew Aramis, and they knew how he could sense things when there was no sign of anything wrong. Porthos' way of keeping things light was to do exactly what he was doing right now. Athos thought to himself, he knows we're keeping something from him.

That was confirmed a moment later, when Aramis said, "What are you all not telling me?" looking each of them in the eye.

With a big sigh, Athos came over and sat down on the edge of the bed, and as was his custom since they had been taking care of Aramis, took his brother's hand once more in his own.

"We should have known you would sense our feelings, brother. You are right. We have some new and rather shocking information."

At this, Aramis' eyebrows shot up, rather in imitation of Athos. "What has happened?"

"Treville received a very disturbing report this morning from the men he sent to investigate the assault and killing of a young barmaid at a tavern near the edge of Paris."

Aramis was wondering what this might have to do with any of them, when Athos went on.

"It turns out a young man was on his way to a tryst with his lady friend, and witnessed the killing." Here, he paused, knowing he was going to shock Aramis. "Aramis, we believe the man he saw rape and kill the young woman was Emile."

Whatever Aramis might have been suspecting, this was the furthest thing from his mind. "A Musketeer?"

"I know. We were all as shocked as you are, mon ami. Nothing like this has ever happened in our regiment. Treville is beside himself with both guilt and anger, although he would have had no way of knowing. Emile's references were clean, even one from a baron in southern France. With a recommendation from a nobleman, even the palace would think twice before refusing him.

But Treville said there was something that happened several months ago that caused him to keep an eye on Emile. Seems he liked a barmaid that refused his advances. He was seen trying to force himself on her behind the tavern. Treville said he would keep silent and give him one more chance. Now, he feels he allowed this to happen by not doing anything then. But it isn't his fault. He didn't say, but he may have suspected Emile had too much to drink, and just wanted to give him every chance first. He feels very guilty, Aramis."

"So he may well also be the Musketeer in the raiding group, as well," said Aramis, making the connection the others already thought might be correct. "If he is, there are also three Red Guards involved. I wonder how they got together, given our two regiments' history."

They could see that even this long was beginning to wear their brother out again. He couldn't hide a big yawn, even though he said he wasn't tired. The others couldn't help but smile again, as their brother's normal behavior was exhibiting itself again. Aramis never wanted to admit he was sick or injured, and that he needed to sleep a lot to heal, even though that is what he would tell them when the roles were reversed. It was so good to see these little signs of healing.

Athos told him, "We don't know all the facts yet. This might be an isolated incident, and he might have nothing to do with the raiding. One thing we do know. One way or the other, he will never come near you, Aramis. I, and Porthos and d'Artagnan as well, will protect you with our lives from whoever did this to you. This I promise you."


	21. Chapter 21

D'Artagnan was sitting with Aramis when he woke up the following morning. He hadn't taken as many shifts since Aramis had become conscious because he knew Athos and Porthos had become close to Aramis long before he had entered the picture. He loved his brothers and wanted to do this for them. But he was so happy to spend the time with his brother now.

As the others had, he also had Aramis' hand held within his own, a finger gently massaging the back of it as he slept.

"Good morning, Aramis," he said as Aramis' eyes opened.

It was obvious that Aramis was still half-asleep, as he didn't reply for a moment, blinking his eyes drowsily. The meds knocked him out so strongly it did take a while for him to wake up most times. D'Artagnan just let him take his time.

Finally, Aramis looked at him, saying, "You can be by my bedside like Athos and Porthos, you know."

Whatever d'Artagnan might have expected Aramis to say, that wasn't it. He didn't respond at first, not knowing what to say.

Then, he began quietly. "They've known you longer, Aramis. I wanted to give them time with you, so I..."

Aramis gently interrupted him, saying, "You are every bit as important, d'Artagnan. I love you, and I know you love me, too. I am very surprised that Athos or Porthos hasn't taken you to task about this already. They are very observant. But with everything going on, it has probably taken a toll on them, too. Lack of sleep often makes the powers of observation blur a little.

I have seen that you are doing most of the errands, bringing meals and other things. I really appreciate that, but I also would like to see you here sometimes when I wake up, too," raising his brows meaningfully to their youngest brother.

D'Artagnan was rather speechless at what had just been said, but he began to feel all warm inside at the gentle chiding filled with love from his brother, and squeezed his hand softly (ever mindful of the broken fingers) to let him know.

Porthos came in the door a few moments later, a heavy tray balanced in one hand as he shut the door with the other. Beaming, he headed for the bed. "Serge has been at it again, Aramis. I swear he is going to put a hundred pounds on you before he's done!"

Aramis surprised them by saying, "Could we delay breakfast for a few minutes? I need to talk to you all right now."

Not understanding what he needed to speak of so urgently, they nevertheless all gathered around his bed, waiting expectantly.

"I have a favor to ask," he began, looking them each in the eyes. "I know I am not in shape, and can barely do anything for myself. But ... just in case, I would like to keep a pistol under my pillow. I may never have to use it, but it would be a source of peace of mind for me. I know you are all here with me, and I have complete trust in each of you. It's just that, right now, it will ease the fears that keep cropping up in my mind. If an emergency were to happen, and you were called away, as unlikely as that seems, I would at least have something near to hand."

Complete silence greeted his comments. Then, Athos laid his hand gently on his brother's shoulder and said, "We understand, Aramis. It is not that you do not trust us to guard you. It is more a security in your mind at this time. I do not know if you would be able to fire a pistol yet with your broken fingers, but one will be laid under your pillow at all times." The others nodded that they understood, as well.

Aramis let out his breath, which he hadn't even been aware that he had been holding until then. He looked at them each again, and said a barely audible "Thank you."

Porthos said, "Enough of this serious talk. Serge has been busy on your behalf, and will be very unhappy if he finds out you let it get cold!"

He took the cover off the bowl to reveal his usual porridge, sugared apples laid on top. Next to the bowl were two thick slices of just-baked bread, with plenty of butter and strawberry jam on top. Aramis' eyes lit up, and he couldn't wait to eat it. Athos and Porthos insisted that it was d'Artagnan's turn to feed Aramis, and that caused the young Musketeers' eyes to light up, as well.

Aramis tried his best to stay awake for a while after eating, but finally gave in when he couldn't keep his eyelids open any more. His brothers just smiled to see the slight hint of the old stubbornness. More of his normal traits were popping out slowly but surely, another sign that his healing was headed in the right direction.

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Emile and his band were gone two days, and left scenes of horror and destruction in each of the three farms they visited. It went some way towards giving him satisfaction, but as they entered the tavern, his mind was already thinking of what he needed to do next.

He had barely sat down before he said, "I am hearing around the garrison that Aramis is more alert and talking again. That is not good. We don't know what he knows, or if those revenge-minded farmers said something they shouldn't have. I've decided we need to eliminate the risk to our being found out as soon as possible. I will take care of this business myself, as I am at the garrison, and no one will suspect anything," he said, the picture of a supremely arrogant man who thought he could do anything and get away with it.

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Anne had called Constance to come and see her. When Constance came into her rooms, Anne drew her over to the seat against the wall. Constance was barely seated, when Anne asked, "How is he?"

Constance had known that was what Anne had wanted to talk to her about. Anne was so much in love with her Musketeer. Almost having lost him had traumatized the normally cool and calm Queen. Letting her know he was starting to do better had helped to quiet the worries quite a bit, but Constance knew that until Aramis was well again, her friend would need reassuring whenever she could bring her a bit of good news.

"He is doing much better, Anne," she was glad she could tell her. "He is eating all his meals now, and the meds that Dr. Lemay gave him help him to sleep and dull the pain."

At those words, though, Anne's face fell. "He is still in pain, then?"

"If he didn't have the meds, he would be in a great deal more pain, so his being given them is a great source of comfort for his brothers. It hurt them so much to see him helpless and hurting so badly before.

Serge, the garrison cook, has been spoiling Aramis as much as possible! He makes no bones about Aramis being his favorite, so he has been baking one delicious dish after another." She knew that would bring a smile to Anne's lips, which it did.

Anne nudged Constance's shoulder before saying softly, "I, too, have something special I would like you to bring to him, if you do not mind, dear Constance."

Constance wasn't surprised that Anne wanted to do something special for her lover. She couldn't go to him herself, so the only thing she could do instead was send him something.

Anne got up and went to a small inlaid-wood side table. Opening the drawer, she drew something out that was wrapped in black silk. Bringing it back to Constance, she handed it to her.

Constance folded back the layers of silk, and gasped when she saw what was inside. A highly-polished pistol with an ornately carved fleur-de-lys on the black handle was matched by a main gauche that had an identical handle laying by its side. The two weapons must have cost a small fortune, the merchant's wife thought to herself with a smile.

She laid her hand softly on Anne's arm, saying, "He will love this, especially if he knows they came from you."

"I wanted him to have something from me that he can use to protect himself," Anne said. "He had everything taken from him when he was kidnapped, did he not?"

Constance remembered telling Anne about that fact, not knowing that she would want to do something about it personally. She thought 'I should have known, though', and smiling.

Anne got up again and went back to the same table. This time, she withdrew a white silk-wrapped bundle, and brought it back.

"I hope you do not mind carrying both of these to the garrison, Constance. I had to give him this, too," she said, almost blushing.

Constance opened the second parcel, and revealed a fine linen shirt with an open neck, such as she knew Aramis wore. Around the collar and cuffs was a small, intricate lace fleur-de-lys pattern. She hadn't told Anne about the shirt she herself had given Aramis, but knew he would love them both. She also knew he could have ill-afforded to lose the few possessions he had, and having two brand-new hand-made shirts would be almost a luxury for him, to say nothing of the weapons.

"I will take them to him now, Anne, and will let you know what he says. I know he will love them," she said, getting up to take her leave.

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Later that day, Constance arrived at Aramis' room just as he was once more waking up. Athos, who was sitting with Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan raised their eyebrows in curiosity at the bundles she was carrying.

"They are from the Queen," Constance whispered, not wanting the surprise to be let out before Aramis saw his gifts, and remembered to add, "on behalf of the royal family for their Musketeer to get well again."

Going over to Aramis' other side, she laid her packages on the table, sat down and took Aramis' hand. "Have you been following dear Dr. Lemay's orders, Aramis?", knowing his reputation for trying to do too much too soon.

He smiled at her, nodded, and before he could say anything, Porthos answered for him, "So far. We are keeping a good eye on him, Constance," his eyes twinkling as he said this.

"I have brought you some gifts, Aramis. Would you like to see them?" knowing he would still be having difficulty using his hands with the broken fingers. He nodded, his face curious.

She unwrapped the first one, and Aramis' eyes grew wide at the sight of the pistol and main gauche revealed. He could see the intricate carvings on the handle, and knew these were a very expensive set of weapons. He didn't have any idea who might have sent them to him, and looked up at Constance in question.

She shook her head. "Not yet. I have another gift for you yet," unwrapping the second parcel as she spoke.

His eyes shone as he saw the workmanship of the shirt. He knew he could never have afforded this quality of material on his Musketeer income. He laid his hand on the material, finding it soft and luxurious to the touch. His eyes once came back to Constance's, the question still in them.

"Her Majesty wanted to give you these gifts, Aramis, on behalf of the royal family. They value their Musketeers and your service, and wanted to show it in this way." Her eyes were telling him something further, though, that she couldn't voice out loud in company.

His eyes were shining, a smile lighting up his weary face, as he looked up at his brothers.

Athos spoke up, saying, "I guess we know which pistol you want under your pillow?" smiling as he said it.

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 **As many of you have already guessed, next week's chapter is probably going to be very dramatic! This one was kind-of leading up to it. As always, I very much appreciate reviews, as they often let me know what needs tweeking or what really worked, so a great big thank you for them!**


	22. Chapter 22

Emile stood in the shadows of the stables, watching the two women, the hoods of their cloaks keeping their anonymity safe, leave Aramis' room. As always, he was jealous of the popular Musketeer. 'They even visit him when he's laid up', he thought. 'What does he have that I don't have'. Then, his thoughts brightened as he thought of what he was going to do when the coast finally became clear. 'It's just a matter of time', having supreme confidence in carrying out his evil plan.

His mood darkened again when he saw that no one else left the room. He was angry that the other Musketeers had stayed with Aramis. Leaning against the stable door, he brooded. Now, I have to wait until tomorrow, and hope I have the opportunity then.

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Anne's visit and gifts had been very good for Aramis. He stayed awake for much longer than he had been able to before.

Dr. Lemay came around mid-afternoon to check on his patient. He was very pleased by what he found. Aramis was definitely on the road to recovery. There was no longer any sign of infection, and the wounds were healing nicely. He intended to keep it that way, and knowing Aramis, he could be his own worst enemy. He was just beginning to show signs of being restless having to stay in bed all the time.

Lemay turned to Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan. "He needs to stay in bed for a good while yet, or all the recovery could be undone."

"But Doctor...", Aramis began, only to see four very determined sets of eyes boring in on him. "Couldn't I...," he tried again, only to be interrupted by three No's drowning him out.

But a healing Aramis was very hard to say no to, and he tried yet again. "At least, the bed could be moved near the window, and I could watch the sparring in the courtyard, and enjoy a little nature."

Lemay seemed to be considering that, before Athos dashed Aramis' hopes. "We do not need to present a living target in the window, Aramis. We nearly lost you before, and do not intend for that to happen again," softening his tone when his eyes met his brother's.

"You know better than us that you need to rest, Aramis," Porthos added. "What do you always tell us when we're laid up?," knowing that giving his own advice back to him was the only way to work around his determination. "You're barely able to move yet. You would be a sitting duck, mon ami."

"But...," only to hear 'no more but's' from everyone in the room. He sagged down, finally defeated.

D'Artagnan spoke up in the silence. "Serge should have a mid-day meal about ready. I'll go get it," leaving the room.

They kept Aramis busy talking and reminiscing again until he fell asleep after Serge's meal.

Porthos looked at his brothers, and said, "He's very determined. He knows everyone else's limits, just not his own."

"That is why we have to do for him what he would do for us if the situation were to be reversed,"Athos said. "And deep down, he knows we are right."

"Yeah, but he'll never admit it," Porthos chuckled.

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Aramis slept through the rest of the day and all night. Porthos sat with him during the night, holding his hand and being thankful he was finally recovering, now that they had heard it officially from Dr. Lemay.

He didn't want to dwell on just how close they had come to losing him. Aramis was the best friend he had ever had. But now things were looking up for all of them, and he was incredibly grateful.

The thought of one of their Musketeers leading a band of renegade Red Guards and terrorizing women in the countryside, then allowing Aramis to take the blame for it rankled him no end. He wished he could get his hands on Emile right about now. The man would never do something like that again when he was through with him.

He wondered also which Red Guards were involved, and why a Musketeer and a Red Guard would willingly do anything together in the first had to be a connection somewhere. Was Emile maybe related to one of them? They would find out, one way or the other.

His thoughts were interrupted when Aramis stirred, showing signs of finally waking up.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted his brother.

Aramis just smiled, his eyes still half-asleep from the meds that always knocked him out so thoroughly.

Athos and d'Artagnan were awake now, too, and d'Artagnan took off as usual to get the breakfasts.

He came right back in the door, followed by Treville.

Porthos, seeing the expression on the Captain's face, raised a questioning brow. Athos, seeing Porthos' expression, turned to give Treville his own questioning look.

Treville wasted no time. "Emile was seen at a tavern at the eastern edge of Paris a short while ago by one of our men," he said.

"In the morning?" Porthos asked. "Isn't he starting a little early in the day?"

"No matter," he replied. "Athos, I want you and Porthos to round up a couple of men and come with me to arrest him."

Athos objected, saying, "I am next to be on watch with Aramis. I will go fetch d'Artagnan, if that is all right with you."

Treville, knowing how the brothers were with each other, voiced no objection, saying Porthos and d'Artagnan should meet him at his office in ten minutes.

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When Emile had seen the activity going on in the garrison, he had vacated his spot in the stables, figuring they would be saddling horses any minute now. He took up his watch in the weapons room, once Treville and Porthos had visited it and further armed themselves.

His plan was working to perfection! The Red Guard had worn Emile's hat and scarf, and the Musketeer who had seen him had reported just as he had figured he would. This was going to be so easy! He just needed to wait until Treville and the others had been gone for several minutes, and he would take care of his business with no interference.

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As the Captain and the others rode out, Athos went back to Aramis' side, scooping up some of the porridge for Aramis, who was by now wide awake. They had filled him in on what was happening, and he hoped all would go smoothly.

Before Athos had given Aramis more than a couple of spoonfuls of the delicious porridge, a knock sounded on the door.

Athos, figuring they must have forgotten something and returned to retrieve it, crossed to the door and opened it a few inches, ever cautious.

The door was suddenly rammed open, as someone slammed his body against the wood. Athos was propelled violently backwards, his head hitting the wall with a sickening thud. It hadn't knocked him out completely, though, and he rather groggily reached for his pistol, only for Emile to bury his main gauche deep in his shoulder. Athos crumpled, unconscious before his body even hit the floor.

Emile stepped over Athos' body, a slow smile splitting his face as he turned towards Aramis, his pistol now aimed at the helpless marksman. "This is going to be easier than target practice."

Aramis, wide awake and alert, spoke quietly to Emile. "Why, Emile?"

Emile's smile turned into a grin. "Why not?"

"You bring a blemish to our Musketeers regiment with your heinous crimes, and you ask why not? Do you not have any conscience or humanity left in you then, that you would savagely attack and murder innocent, helpless women?" Aramis continued to speak, never raising his voice.

Emile's face twisted in hatred now. "You, who have women falling at your feet without even trying, have the nerve to ask me that? They don't even notice me when you enter a tavern, their eyes are all on you. It was poetic justice when you were mistaken for me. I can have any woman I want, and any way I want her now. They can't resist with a gun pointed at them, no one can."

"You need help, Emile. Maybe something happened in your past to trigger this behavior, maybe not. But you cannot go on as you did before. We are on to you."

"But of course you are. Who do you think set up someone dressed as myself at the tavern this was all planned. There is no one to help you now, Aramis. Your heroic Musketeers will return to the garrison to find their precious marksman dead, as you should have been after those farmers attacked you."

Aramis was slowly feeling under his pillow for the pistol Anne had gifted him with as he kept Emile engaged in talking, hoping he didn't notice any movement.

"And Red Guards? Since when do Musketeers and Red Guards enjoy each other's company?" Aramis asked.

Emile just laughed. He figured Aramis would be dead in a few moments anyway, so he could care less if he told him. "My cousin couldn't get a commission in this regiment. Not good enough. No one suspected we were related, and it suited us just fine. Once we take care of you, and remove those pesky farmers from their vendetta before they figure out they had the wrong man, we will be free as birds to conduct our business for many years to come, with no one the wiser."

"But we know you are involved, Emile."

"Knowing it and proving it are two different things. They have no concrete proof except for a Musketeer's word, and the regiment will be quite discredited once word gets out that you were the ringleader."

"Enough of this talk. Are you trying to stall for time, Aramis? I told you. There is no one to rescue you. Your 'brother' is out cold, and you are as helpless as a baby in that bed. All I need to do is decide on a shot to the head, or one to the heart," laughing as he said it.

As Emile walked closer, taking his time, Aramis' fingers closed around his gun handle. Pulling it out from the pillow faster than he had thought he could move right now, he lifted it as Emile stared.

Then the renegade Musketeer began to laugh as he saw how shaky Aramis' hand was and how hard he was trying to hold onto the gun with bandaged fingers. He slowly brought his arm upward, aiming his gun at the marksman.

Aramis desperately tried to get a better grip, his damaged fingers giving him trouble now only holding the pistol but getting on the trigger, as well. He could feel the tremors in his hand as he tried to make it do his bidding.

"The famous marksman! Can't even handle a gun without shaking. I'm so scared!" he scoffed at Aramis' efforts.

"I think the heart, the famous lover's heart. That's where I will put the bullet that takes your life," he continued. He slowly turned the gun towards Aramis' chest, when suddenly a shot rang out, and Emile's face turned to utter shock. His hand came up to grab at his side, which was bleeding profusely now. Turning, he stumbled towards the door, intent on getting out before anyone in the garrison came running at the sound of the shot.

Aramis' energy suddenly left him as he attempted to put his legs over the side of the bed to go to Athos. He slowly slid down the side of the bed, desperately trying to grab onto something to break his fall. But the blanket his hands closed around did nothing to stop him. As his world turned black around him, he dimly heard two shots ring out somewhere in the garrison, then in a tangle of sheet and blanket, lost consciousness before he hit the wood of the floor.


	23. Chapter 23

Porthos and d'Artagnan had pulled their triggers simultaneously, Emile dead before he even hit the ground. The Musketeers paid no attention whatever to his body, panic at the gunshot they had heard right before Emile came stumbling out of Aramis' door propelling them there. Their legs flew towards their brother's room, fear clutching at their hearts.

The scene that greeted them when they opened the door was their worst nightmare. Aramis lay unmoving on the floor, his body twisted amidst his blanket and sheet. Glancing towards their right, they beheld Athos slumped on the floor, blood covering the front of his shirt. Without a word, Porthos headed for Aramis, while d'Artagnan moved towards Athos.

Porthos knelt at Aramis' side, almost afraid to lay his fingers alongside his neck. Once he had, his relief at feeling a pulse mixed with worry at how fast it was. He quickly checked him for any new wounds, not finding any, but seeing that two of the barely healing gashes on his chest had re-opened and were bleeding. Gently lifting his brother, he deposited him back on his bed, only then noticing the pistol that had ended up underneath him. Was it Aramis who had fired the shot they had heard? Or had Athos been hit as he himself had fired at Emile? They wouldn't know what happened for sure until one or the other of their brothers awakened.

Going over to Aramis' medical bag, Porthos hurriedly rummaged through it until he found some salve and new bandages,and, going back to Aramis' side, sat down gingerly and removed the blood-soaked ones, applying the salve and rewrapping them. He wasn't a doctor, so he just hoped he had done all that was needed. His friend definitely didn't need any infections now. Through it all, Aramis never budged or made a sound.

When he was finished, Porthos covered him with the blanket, and laid his hand on Aramis' curly locks, saying, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you, Aramis. Just get well, all right?" worry for his best friend written all over his face. He stayed on the edge of the bed, watching his once-again traumatized brother sleep, and feeling so thankful that it hadn't been worse. Then, he kicked himself as he remembered Athos, turning to see his other two brothers on the far side of the room.

D'Artagnan had checked to see where the blood on Athos' chest was coming from, discovering a deep puncture wound, probably from the discarded knife lying near his brother. Laying his brother flat, he tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt to press against the wound, using another strip to bind it in place. Checking over the rest of his brother's body, he discovered a lump on the back of his head, possibly his having hit the wall in back of him.

He was almost done checking him over when Athos moaned softly. D'Artagnan leaned over, saying, "Athos? It's d'Artagnan."

Athos showed no recognition yet, but spoke in a voice barely above a whisper as he began to frantically try to get up, "Aramis!" Then, louder, more urgent, "Aramis!"

D'Artagnan said, "He is alive, Athos. Porthos...", but got no further, Athos apparently not conscious enough yet to understand what was being said. He again tried urgently to get up, calling his brother's name in a panicked voice. "Aramis!"

D'Artagnan couldn't keep him down and didn't know what else to do, so he gathered him up in his arms, and held him. Athos was too injured to really struggle much against two healthy arms, but that didn't stop him from trying. D'Artagnan was afraid he would make his injury worse if he kept struggling, but continued to try to keep him still.

Porthos had been watching what was going on. He checked Aramis once more, and seeing that he had shown no signs of returning consciousness, he went to Athos's side.

"Athos, it's Porthos," he said softly. At first, Athos showed no signs of having heard anything.

Porthos continued trying to get through to him, finally saying, "He's going to be all right," then, when Athos stilled for a moment, he added, "Look, brother!" At those words Athos' eyes opened, the look in them still frantic, so Porthos repeated his words, and pointed at Aramis in his bed, saying, "Look, brother!" Once Athos saw the object of his panic, he finally calmed down, but his eyes never left Aramis.

Porthos and d'Artagnan talked it over, and decided to move one of the cots next to Aramis' bed so that Athos could be near him. As soon as he had been carried over and deposited on the cot, Athos reached for Aramis' hand, frustrated when his arm didn't want to cooperate. D'Artagnan figured out the problem, and put Aramis' hand in his brother's clasp. That was the only thing that seemed to have been causing him to stay awake. As soon as he felt Aramis' hand within his, Athos' eyes closed in sleep

The others figured they might have reacted the same as Athos if they had been in his place. They had gone through weeks of worry and pain when Aramis had been taken and also when they had finally got him back, and now, he had nearly been killed again. No wonder Athos reacted the way he did.

Finding out that the wound Athos had sustained had been from a knife told them he had probably been attacked first, probably thrown back against the wall when Emile had shoved open the door. Knowing Athos, he would have tried to retaliate as quickly as he could, and that is when Emile most likely used the knife, freeing him to go after his main target, Aramis, unimpeded.

A critically injured man in a bed must have seemed like child's play to Emile. But even a badly injured Aramis could still be a danger, especially when the attacker was over-confidant and possibly toying with him. Knowing Aramis as well as they did, he more than likely kept up a steady stream of talk, distracting Emile from anything else and giving him a chance to reach under the pillow for the gun. But how did he fire? They knew what shape his hands were in, especially his fingers. They wouldn't know until he woke up.

Once again, they settled in around the beds to keep watch, hoping both of their brothers would be all right. They knew there had been three Red Guards working with Emile. When they discovered he was dead, what would their reactions be-revenge or running for their lives?

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An hour later, Treville came rapidly through the door, asking, "What in the world happened here?"as he reached the beds and looked down with dismay at his two unconscious Musketeers.

"Seems Emile set us up to go looking for him on the other side of Paris while he tried to eliminate Aramis here, Captain," Porthos said.

"No one was around in the compound, just Emile lying dead in the middle of it," Treville replied. It's a good thing the four of you seem to be somehow connected even when you're not together. If you two hadn't begged me to come back here because of the gut feelings you were having..." He stopped himself, then went on, "What exactly did happen here?"

"We don't know yet," d'Artagnan answered. "When we got through the gates, we heard a gunshot coming from this direction, and Emile bleeding in the middle of the garrison and raising his gun at us. We both shot him." Then, after a little hesitation, he added, "We probably should have removed the body."

Treville wasn't the least bit concerned that Emile had been lying there, and said so. "Neither Aramis or Athos have come to at all?" When he got a shake of the head as a reply, he went on, "Do either of you know anything about what took place in this room before you got here?"

Porthos told him, "From where Aramis and Athos were, and their conditions, we are guessing that Emile surprised Athos, then buried his main gauche in his shoulder. Athos was unconscious when we got here. Aramis was lying all tangled up in his blanket by the side of his bed. He was also unconscious. Athos awoke for a few minutes, and we had to restrain was completely out of it, and trying to go to Aramis in a panic. He had no idea what happened other than that Emile had got past him,and from the state of mind he was in,was afraid the man had killed Aramis. We calmed him down by showing him that Aramis was in the bed,then moved a cot over here so they could be side by side. He has been asleep or unconscious ever since, with Aramis' hand in his."

Before they could go any further, the door opened again,and Constance came in, carrying a basket. Her face shocked, she said, "What happened? How are Aramis and Athos? The Queen is going to be beside herself if she hears that something new happened!"

D'Artagnan came and put his arm around Constance's shoulders. Drawing her away a little from the sleeping men, he said, "The man Aramis was mistaken and treated so horribly for invaded the room today. He stabbed Athos,and nearly killed Aramis. But please tell the Queen that Aramis now has her pistol under his pillow,and it saved his life. He shot the man with it!"

Constance started to smile that Anne's gift had saved Aramis' life, but then the smile faded as she asked, "If it saved his life, why is he now unconscious? And how is Athos?"

"We think he tried to get out of bed to go to Athos, but fell. He did open a couple of the wounds, but we've re-done them. Athos hit his head, possibly from the door slamming open. Then, Emile stabbed him. But we believe he will be all right."

Constance gave him a hug before going over to Aramis' bed. Laying her basket on the side table, she sat down on the edge of the bed and took his left hand, Athos still holding his right hand even as he slept. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to the marksman's brow, and whispered, "You better get better now." And lowering her voice even further, she said, "Her Majesty will have someone's head if you don't," squeezing his hand gently.

Getting up, she told them the basket was full of things their majesties thought would be good for him to eat. She said she needed to get back to the palace and inform them of the latest trouble, but would be back tomorrow. Kissing d'Artagnan softly, she let herself out the door.

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A couple of hours later, Porthos and d'Artagnan finally saw some signs of returning consciousness from Aramis. His free hand twitched a few times, and his head rolled to the right.

Porthos leaned over him, saying quietly, "Aramis? You with us again, mon ami?"

Seeing no further movement, he tried again. "Aramis? Think you could open those brown eyes for us? You've got us a little worried, you know."

Aramis' eyes still didn't open. He grew agitated before their eyes, mumbling something too quiet for them to make out at first. Porthos laid his hands on his friend's shoulders to keep him still when he began to grow restless. "Aramis, lie still, mon ami. You don't want to start bleeding again."

But Aramis didn't hear him. His voice gathered a little strength as he tried again. "Ath..." he murmured, continuing his efforts to break free and help the brother he saw in his mind crumpled up on the floor.

"Athos! He n..needs me! P...please!" he said more urgently.

Understanding now, Porthos and d'Artagnan gently but firmly continued to keep him in bed, Porthos saying, "Aramis...Aramis! Athos is right next to you. Look!"

This time, it seemed to work. After a few moments of movement under his eyelids, they finally cracked open, looking up into Porthos' concerned eyes. Then, his eyes traveled slowly to d'Artagnan's face. He wasn't completely aware yet, and confusion showed in his face. His breathing was fast and agitated.

"Here, Aramis. Athos is here...right next to you," Porthos told him, directing his eyesight to the cot next to him. Finally, Aramis' body relaxed a little when he saw his brother sleeping beside him.

As it had been a source of calm for Athos, Porthos figured it would probably do the same for Aramis, so he gently laid Athos' limp hand in Aramis', and his hand closed immediately around it. His breathing evened out, and his eyes finally lost the confused and worried look.

"He is resting, and you need the rest, too. Sometimes, you just need to let us help," Porthos told him.

"I'm f...", he started to say, only for both Porthos and d'Artagnan to stop him with stern gazes, and Porthos saying, "If you finish that sentence, I am going to eat every dessert Serge sends you until you're well again!"


	24. Chapter 24

"How you feeling, Aramis?" Porthos asked him. "The truth now, all right?"

"Like a horse landed on me," Aramis murmured, shocking his brother, who wasn't used to truthfulness from his brother when it came to his health.

"Ribs?" Porthos guessed.

"Um hmm, probably landed pretty hard on them," Aramis responded.

Porthos pulled back the covers, and pulled up Aramis' shirt. He didn't see any bruising, at least not until Aramis indicated his back. Turning him over as carefully as he could, Porthos winced when he saw the bruises on his lower back.

D'Artagnan came in the door just then, and whistled when he saw the marks. "You sure didn't need anything else to cause you pain," he said softly, patting Aramis on the shoulder carefully.

"I'll be f...," he began, only to get the same look from both brothers again, but this time with frustration and a glint of humor mixed with it.

"You're incorrigible, you know that," Porthos said, but inside he had to be a little happy, as this was again their Aramis responding in his usual way.

A cough from their other injured brother brought all of them's attention towards Athos, who was now waking up painfully.

When he opened his eyes, he had three pairs looking at him, two from above him and one from his other prone brother.

His voice scratchy, Athos said, "You all right?" to Aramis.

D'Artagnan answered, "If you believed what he just said, he should be doing somersaults by tomorrow," eliciting a typical raised eyebrow from Athos, and a sideways slanted eye ran its way down Aramis' form looking for new injuries.

"So are either of you two ready for a meal?" d'Artagnan asked, with a smile.

When two smiles answered, he took off for the door yet again to see what Serge would come up with this time.

Treville came in as d'Artagnan left, his face lightening as he saw his injured Musketeers awake and watching him stride rapidly across the room towards them.

"I had several of the men bury Emile in the pauper's cemetary outside Paris," he told them. "Whether he spent any time with the regiment or not, he doesn't deserve the kind of funeral the regiment gives for our loyal soldiers," seeing the others all nodding their heads in agreement.

"I looked through his things afterwards, and you will never guess what I found."

Blank looks greeted him, so he explained. "Seems Emile and one of the Red Guards were cousins. No wonder he got some participation from several of them. I've just gone to the palace, and they are going to allow me to interrogate the cousin, who is now in the Chatelet. I intend to find out the names of the other Red Guards involved. They will all hang once I do."

"Why would he tell you anything if he knows he is going to die?" Porthos asked.

"If I tell him I will have each of their surviving families be given a small stipend, I think it might open him up. Louis was agreeable to the proposal."

Standing up, he looked softly at his beleagured Musketeers, and said, "Get plenty of rest and heal. We shouldn't have any more traitor Musketeers sneaking into the garrison now," turning and leaving, closing the door softly as he went.

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It took less than a day of intense questioning before Emile's cousin spilled the beans, and the other two members of Emile's gang joined him in the Chatelet. They were sentenced to be hung in the next day. Treville felt very satisfied with how the day went.

He was deep in thought, though, as he made his way back to the garrison. They still needed to find out who the farmers were who had attacked Aramis. They didn't need others meting out their version of justice. There were enough villains to contend with. They didn't need others taking the law into their own hands, and doing it with a savagery he had rarely seen in all his days of soldiering.

We will bring the vermin who nearly killed you to justice, Aramis, he silently promised. They will not get away with it. Not on my watch, or on your brothers'.

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The men who had hurt Aramis so badly, unbeknownst to the Musketeers, were regularly meeting every week in a tavern in the northern edges of Paris. They had no fear of anyone recognizing them, as no one had any idea who had done the deed, as far as they knew. They were just farmers come to Paris to sell their crops to anyone who might glance at them. They dressed as a majority of farmers anyone would see if they were traveling outside the cities of France. There was nothing on the outside to distinguish them as the cold-blooded men they really were.

Their leader, the man Aramis had nicknamed "Black Wing", got their meeting underway barely before they had ordered their ales.

"Henri here just told me that Musketeer is recovering!" he growled, anger radiating from him as he spoke. "With what we did to him, there is no way he should have come through it," speaking as if torturing a man was his right and prerogative.

"What do we do now?" a short man with a head of bushy auburn hair asked.

"What do we do? Do you really have to ask that?" Black Wing responded, looking at the man with contempt. "We wait for a while until that Musketeer and his friends let us recede to the back of their minds a little, until their guard isn't focused on us so much. Once he gets a little better, they are going to be so happy, they will relax. Most people do. Then, we strike, and this time we finish him for good. We owe it to the women in our families that we lost to avenge them, and I, for one, do not intend to rest until things are settled for good," looking at the other three as if he was challenging them.

Each one of them looked him in the eye and nodded his head. He finally relaxed a little, took a swig of his ale, and leaned back in his chair. "We will have plenty of time to get ready. During the week, we tend our farms. On weekends, we come back to Paris, to see how things are going and plan things. No one will ever be the wiser. Those Musketeers have no clue who to look for, so we are perfectly safe here. Drink up, gentlemen!"

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Treville came straight to tell his Musketeers the results of his questioning. They felt a lot better now that the other three had been identified and were in prison. None of them wanted to go the the hanging, though, which didn't surprise Treville. With two of them injured, the other two wouldn't leave their sides for anything.

He noticed that Aramis and Athos' hands were still holding each other. Aramis had once again had a bad scare, actually a double one. His life had not only been threatened once more, but also one of his brothers had nearly been killed. He was a tactle person, and having physical contact with the brother he had nearly lost calmed him down. Athos had been rendered unconscious, and awoke not knowing what had happened to his brother, and didn't want to lose contact with him either.

D'Artagnan brought their meals in, smiling as he did so.

Porthos, seeing the smile, asked, "What did Serge come up with this time?"

D'Artagnan winked, before bringing the trays to his brothers' bedsides and lifting the covers on the plates. There were tender roast beef slices on each plate, potatoes and a beautiful dessert.

D'Artagnan saw them looking at the desserts, and told them Serge called it a lemon tart with meringue.

Porthos said, "Too bad you two have been behaving. I don't have a reason to eat your desserts," sounding slightly disappointed to be left out. Aramis and Athos just grinned.

Porthos fed Aramis his meal, as, despite his having been able to pull the trigger of his pistol, his fingers were still not in good shape, and using it too soon hadn't helped matters. Athos used his other hand to eat, as the injured one was in a sling. Porthos was as good as his word, and fed Aramis the entire tart, despite looking like he was drooling over it at time. The looks on both of their faces when they were eating the tart was worth every bit of the amount of time and trouble Serge had to have taken to make them.

As soon as they finished, they both started to yawn. Aramis wasn't surprised by this time, knowing they had been putting pain and sleeping meds in his food, but Athos looked up at Porthos and d'Artagnan like they had pulled a dirty trick on him when he became overwhelmingly tired.

"You did not drug me?" he asked them, already knowing the answer to his question.

"You need to get well, too, Athos," Porthos replied with a little smile. "The sooner we have everyone back to good health, the better, I say," he continued, looking over with a conspiratorial smile at d'Artagnan, who returned it back to him.


	25. Chapter 25

**_I was asked in pm's if there would be any explanation of how they finally found Aramis and rescued him from his kidnappers. I apologize for leaving that out, and here it is. I really appreciate reviews, pm's and when you follow my story. I have always wanted to write, and fanfiction had realized that dream of mine. Thank you for all your kind words!_**

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Porthos sat between his two injured brothers, keeping watch while d'Artagnan got a little sleep. When is this going to ever end, he thought to himself in frustration.

Aramis was just beginning to heal, and stop having the nightmares and fear. Would it all begin again? He is the kindest, most generous man I have ever known, he thought, and to have this happen to him? Why? Glancing over at Athos, his thoughts were of how close he had come to being killed trying to protect their brother. A little to the left, and the dagger could have pierced his heart.

Their lives quite often involved saving people's lives, and to have nearly been killed themselves by a group of raving maniacs angered the big man. If I ever...he stopped. When I get my hands on them, he amended his thoughts, they are going to wish they had never harmed my brothers!

Aramis moved restlessly in his sleep. Probably having one of the nightmares that had tormented him since they had brought him back, thought Porthos, rubbing soft circles on the back of the hand he held, trying to let his brother know he was safe with his brothers. It seemed to work, as Aramis quieted again, and let out a soft little sigh. Porthos smiled to himself. Ever the one who needed the touch of a friend, he mused.

It was quite often his dearest friend who gave that attention to each of them, sometimes when they were lying helpless in a bed as he himself was now. How often had he pulled one or another of his brothers back from the brink of death? How often had his deadly accurate aim with a pistol or musket saved their lives? And he was nearly as deadly with a rapier or a main gauche, as well.

To have been kidnapped off the street,as they believe he was, and then to have been so cruelly tormented and for so long caused a growl of anger from the big man.

He remembered the day the young girl had hesitantly come through the gates of the garrison, fear in her movements. Looking around, the only people she had seen had been he, d'Artagnan and Athos, sitting at their table with their breakfast before them, not really eating it but picking away at the edges in their despair.

Walking slowly towards them, she stopped a few feet away and asked, "Please, monsieurs, I need to talk to a Musketeer?"

Athos had risen and gone over to her, his brothers following right behind. "We are Musketeers, mademoiselle. How may we assist you?"

The girl had looked at each one of them, then slowly said, "I...I saw...", then stopped, as if she couldn't go on, that she was deathly afraid of something...or someone.

"What did you see?" Athos continued, in the same soft voice, trying to let the girl know she didn't have anything to fear from them.

Hesitating again, she took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out of her as fast as she could speak once she began. "I saw them men walking past our house. I heard them. I was hanging my ma's washing in the yard. They said...they said they was gonna kill a Musketeer."

Whatever they could have imagined, it hadn't been this. Was this the long-awaited clue they needed, hoped for?

Athos knew he had to be as gentle as he could with this skittish young girl. The men she had seen and what she had heard had obviously terrified her. "Could you show us where you live, and where the men were when they walked by, please?"

He could see that she was getting more scared now. "Our friend has been missing for a month. We have not been able to find him. We feared he was dead. We love him very much. He is our brother. You have given us hope again, and we thank you for will not let anyone see you taking us there, and once we know which house it is, we want you to leave us and go back to your home. We only need to know which house. Can you do that for us, please?"

She was silent for so long they began to fear she was too scared to help them. Then, looking up at them again, she said very quietly, "I love my little brother, too. If something happened to him, I would want to help him. I...I will take you."

They each leaned down and gave her a little kiss on either cheek, thanking her. They told her to wait just a moment, and Porthos and d'Artagnan went and got their weapons. Athos stayed with her, as they were still not positive that her fear might not get the best of her yet.

Her eyes got big and round when she saw the rapiers, pistols and knives that they put on their persons, but didn't say a word. She turned around and headed for the gate, the Musketeers close behind.

They walked quite a distance, heading in the direction of the southern edges of Paris. When she finally stopped and pointed, they could see that not very much further on and they would have passed the outskirts of the city.

They thanked the girl, and asked her to go home and stay out of sight. She picked up her ragged skirts and ran. They marked which house she had gone into, because they fully intended to come back and thank her profusely again if Aramis was inside of the building ahead of them.

They realized they should have brought reinforcements, as they had no idea who they were dealing with or how many of them there were. But it was too late now. They had to move quickly, hoping against hope that Aramis was indeed inside.

They moved silently up to the house, weapons now drawn. Knocking on the door, there was no answer, just the continued silence.

Athos slowly pushed open the door that was ajar, moving inside, followed by his brothers.

No lights were lit inside, and all was still. Where had the kidnappers gone? They didn't think they had been tricked by the girl, so the men must have gone out on business of some kind. Where was Aramis? was their panicked thought.

Moving further into the room, they could smell wood smoke, which indicated that someone had been there recently. They decided against lighting any of thd lanterns laying next to the door, in case the occupants came back and the lights alerted them they were there. Instead, d'Artagnan brought along two of them as they searched.

It wasn't more than a few minutes into their search that they discovered a heavily bolted door in the back of the house. Looking silently at each other with a little hope in their eyes now, Porthos flipped his pistol and slammed it down on the bolt, shattering it. Opening the door, they could see nothing as it was pitch black with cold air rising from the depths of the darkness.

D'Artagnan now lit the two lanterns, handing one to Athos, and keeping the other for himself. Lifting them high above their heads, they saw an old rickety staircase. Athos led the way, as he and Porthos began their descent into the inky darkness. D'Artagnan stayed at the doorway to keep an eye out for anyone returning.

They saw no sign of Aramis when they reached the bottom of the staircase, but what the lantern lights revealed caused them to freeze. On the walls, various things were hung up: whips, knives, pistols, pokers and a noose. They looked at each other with renewed panic in their eyes now, and splitting up, began to explore the cavernous cellar.

It was Athos who first saw something. A nearly naked body was lying unmoving facing the wall, his arms and legs bound. Even from where he stood, he recognized his brother's curly dark hair. "Aramis!" he called. Nearly dropping his lantern in his haste, he ran to his brother's side. Porthos, who had been alerted by his call, was right on his heels.

Dropping to their knees next to their brother, they looked with horror on his obviously tortured body. His back had been flogged badly. Athos, reaching out a shaking hand, laid two fingers gently against Aramis' neck, feeling for a pulse. At first, there was nothing.

"No!" he said, in a voice barely above a whisper, trying again. It took a few heart-stopping moments, but then..."He is alive!" They all started to breathe again, not really realizing til then that they had stopped for a moment.

Porthos, without a word, drew his main gauche and tried to cut the ropes. They were so tight he had to cut from the outside in, working as delicately as he could so as not to cut his skin.

Turning him over gently, they hissed when they saw his face. Both eyes were blackened and swollen shut, and a myriad of bruises mottled his skin. But it was the muzzle that caused all three of them to swear profusely. Again, it was Porthos who set to work to free his brother of the evil contraption, using the lock picks he always carried with him.

But even as the muzzle was finally lifted off of him, they swore again. He had been gagged, as well. What kind of monsters were they dealing with? Athos could practically feel Porthos' rage simmering, the same rage he himself was trying to contain.

As Porthos had been working, Athos sadly examined the rest of Aramis' body. He was severely emaciated, and his skin was very dry, indicating that he had been receiving very little nourishment. His body was riddled with bad bruising, cuts-some deep and some shallower, gashes and burns. They had no idea what he had been burned with, but there were differences in shape of some of them, so obviously more than one implement had been used. The fingers on his hands were in bad shape, too, some broken, some with fingernails missing.

Athos spoke, saying, "We need to get him out of here before they come back. Taking care of his wounds will have to wait until we get him to the garrison," taking off his cloak as he spoke, and laying it flat on the ground.

Porthos, with a gentleness that belied his massive size, gathered his brother's broken body and lifted him onto the cloak. Wrapping it around him, he again lifted him, cradling him against his body protectively.

Athos led the way across the cellar, and then up the stairs to rejoin d'Artagnan, who asked quietly, "How bad?". Athos didn't trust himself to speak about it yet, so he just shook his head. Reaching the main floor, they cautiously approached the front door, looking through the window first to make sure the coast was clear before exiting the house.

Their one intent was to get their brother back to the garrison as quickly as possible. They didn't even realize the imposing image they presented to the townspeople they passed. They walked three abreast, Porthos in the middle carrying their precious burden. They moved swiftly, Athos and d'Artagnan holding their drawn pistols at their sides, watchful only of any threat that might present itself, not seeing the shocked and fearful looks thrown their way by shopkeepers, women going about their daily chores, and children playing in the streets. Once they came through the garrison gates, their vigilance relaxed within the walls.

Treville had come down the steps two at a time, already giving orders to find a doctor, and leading them into the infirmary.

Back in the present, remembering finding their brother had brought tears to Porthos' eyes. He felt a hand on his, and looking up, found Athos awake and aware of the turmoil in his friend's eyes. They had all relived their pain and fears many times over the past weeks, and they were acutely aware of each other's feelings.

"He has gone through so much, Athos, and the nightmares just won't leave him alone. He needs the rest, and..."

"He is going to make it, Porthos. This was only a temporary setback. He is healing. We have to give him time to get over the nightmares. We only have one group to contend with now, too. Those farmers will rue the day they ever tangled with us, I promise you that."

An unexpected voice, still sounding sleepy, spoke up. "I am healing, Porthos. I am sorry I have given you all such a painful burden to go through. I..."

Porthos and Athos both stopped him, their hands softly coming to rest on his shoulders, love for their brother shining in their eyes. Athos spoke softly, "You are never a burden, Aramis. You are our brother. We love you. What happened to you happened to us, as well. We are healing together."


	26. Chapter 26

_**Sorry about this chapter being a little shorter. Between Christmas parties, a huge charity event for the poor and homeless at our church, Christmas shopping and babysitting, I didn't have quite enough time this week. Aramis and Athos think they are quite all right way ahead of when they would be in reality!**_

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The following week found Porthos and d'Artagnan keeping a watchful eye on their two injured brothers, after both of them attempted to try things that were definitely out-of-bounds for them at this stage.

Athos, after complaining of having to be in bed, had been allowed to sit in a chair by the window during the day. He took this time to do some pistol-cleaning, but got a little too energetic with it, and aggravated the shoulder in the sling. When he couldn't help but groan from the pain it caused him, his brothers noticed, insisted he get back into bed. He wasn't supposed to have been using that arm for at least a week, but had disregarded doctor's orders. Dr. Lemay hadn't been happy, and told him he was back to staying in bed for at least the next two days. Needless to say, Athos was not pleased at the prospect.

Aramis, on the other hand, having been told that he was very lucky that the fall out of bed after shooting Emile hadn't reinjured anything major, had taken that to mean that since he hadn't really injured himself much, he could try moving around more, and decided to test that theory. He had been feeling guilty that his brothers had been having to do even the smallest things for him when he was so helpless, and that they were constantly worried for him, and thought, if I can get back on my feet again,things could get back to normal. So one morning after the fall, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed, ignoring the small lightning bolts running through his body in protest. Then, he slowly swung one leg over the side of the bed. Catching his breath at the sharper flashes of pain he experienced, he waited a moment, then moved the other one. This time, he nearly doubled over from his body's reaction, but it still didn't stop him. I can do this, he thought to himself.

He took several deep breaths, then lifted himself up off the bed. The reaction was immediate. He couldn't stop the moan when the pain shot up through the middle of his body, and doubled over, sitting back down again in a hurry. His heart was beating way too fast, causing him to gasp to catch his breath.

Athos, who had been dozing, awakened then, and alerted d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan, turning from the fireplace where he had been heating some stew for his brothers' lunch, ran for the bed and gently eased Aramis back down again. His brother just lay there, with his eyes tight closed and his breathing still ragged and way too fast.

"Aramis, why did you try that?" d'Artagnan asked him, clearly frustrated with his brothers' stubbornness at not accepting their current limitations.

Aramis didn't respond, trying to slow his breathing back down again. He knew he probably shouldn't have tried to move yet, but he never liked being laid up. He was a difficult patient at the best of times, and never wanted to lie still for long. His brothers knew that, and generally watched him like a hawk. Probably it was the length of time he wasn't able to do anything at all that had lulled them into thinking it would be too soon for him to try anything.

D'Artagnan sat on the bed, carding his fingers through his brother's hair, calming him down. "Just breathe slowly, Aramis. Follow my breaths," as he slowly and evenly drew a breath in, then slowly exhaled it. It took a few moments for him to get Aramis to follow his lead, but then, his breathing began to slow down and return to normal.

"You are getting well, Aramis," he said, "just don't try to do it all at once, all right?" trying for a teasing tone to his voice.

Aramis, whose voice was gradually coming back, responded in a tone a little above a whisper, "I've been lying down for so long,d'Artagnan, first as a captive, then here."

"I know," Athos spoke up. "But it will take time. You, more than any of us, know that. You can't do it all in a day, Aramis. You will only reinjure yourself, and cause the recovery to take even longer."

Conceding defeat at both of his brother's logical comments, Aramis changed the subject. "Do I smell beef stew in that pot?"

Grinning, d'Artagnan stood up, saying, "Are you saying you're hungry? How about you, Athos?"

Receiving an affirmative nod from his other brother, as well, he went about ladling a heaping portion into two bowls. As he brought them over to his brothers, Porthos came back into the room.

"Quiet morning?" he asked d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan, preparing to feed Aramis the stew, quirked an eyebrow up, saying, "If you only knew."

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Aramis barely finished half of his stew before falling asleep, his "adventure" tuckering him out. His brothers just looked at him with exasperated smiles, and relief that nothing worse had happened from it.

Porthos then told them his news. "I found who the woodworker is who carved those boxes," he announced.

He got Athos and d'Artagnan's full attention with that comment.

"In Paris," d'Artagnan asked, figuring it had to be. That kind of workmanship deserved a showplace to exhibit it and command the prices the craftsman would want.

"Yeah," Porthos said. "But there is a problem. He hasn't been at his shop for several weeks. No one seems to know where he's gone, either."

"Let us just hope that "the farmers" didn't decide to eliminate a source for finding them," Athos said, but already figuring it was a distinct possiblility.

They needed to let Treville know, so that he could have a couple of the men investigate the man's disappearance further.

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Treville came early that evening with some more news. But he got sidetracked.

As he walked in, he immediately asked how Aramis and Athos were.

"If they both hadn't overtaxed their bodies today, they would be fine," d'Artagnan said.

Treville's eyes sharpened. "What do you mean overtaxed?"

"It was nothing, Treville," Athos said.

Porthos overrode him, saying, "First, Athos here decided to use his wounded shoulder to clean a pistol, and aggravated it. Then, Aramis tried to outdo him. He decided today would be a good day to see if he could get out of bed, and if d'Artagnan hadn't caught him, he would have landed on the floor."

Both men who were being talked about had begun to wake up as Porthos was talking, and almost wished they hadn't. Treville glared at both of them in frustration, and said, "You will not leave your beds again until Dr. Lemay gives you leave. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Both men looked anywhere but at their commanding officer. But Treville wanted them to verbally accept his order, and repeated himself. They both nodded their heads, still not looking at him. In hindsight, they both knew they had overstepped themselves.

"Fine," he said abruptly. "Then, the Treville who was almost like a father to all of them spoken in a quieter tone as he asked, "How are you both feeling?" Then, he followed up with, "I want the truth," looking directly at Aramis as he said it.

Athos replied first, saying, "My arm didn't like the workout I gave it, but I have rested it since and it has calmed down."

Treville looked pointedly at Aramis, who said in a very quiet voice, "The pains that were shooting through me have calmed down. I've learned my lesson. As I said earlier, I am very sorry I've been such trouble for all of you. I am very thankful for the care you have taken of me. I just wanted to give you all a rest from the constant care you have had to give to me."

Treville's face softened immediately. "Aramis, the only reason I was hard on you just now is because of how much we have all seen you go through. We didn't want any of that pain to happen to you again. I am pleased that it has died down. Now, please let yourself heal properly."

"I will, Captain," Aramis said, touched by the love and concern in Treville's face as he had spoken to him, and seeing it in his brothers's faces, as well.

"I do have some very interesting news, gentlemen," Treville said. He got their attention again with that statement.

"What did you learn?" Athos said.

"I have found out that one of the farming areas that was hit so hard by the attacks was largely populated with retired soldiers," Treville said. "These men may be trained soldiers, which would account for their knowledge of weapons, and possibly their brutality, as well. If there women were attacked, they would want revenge, and use their soldiering skills to track down and execute their idea of justice upon who they regarded as the leader. But soldiers or not, they have no right to be judge, jury and executioner. The Crown takes a very dim view of that. It isn't justice, it is lawlessness."

Athos said, "I am wondering what kind of soldiers they were? Was their frame of mind this way in the army, or was it twisted after their loved ones were so brutally attacked? Either way, though, they have no right to decide for themselves. If everyone did that on matters, this land would be in a constant state of lawless turmoil."

"They will be brought to justice, or brought down resisting. You will be avenged, Aramis. I promise you that,"Treville said, squeezing the hand he had taken up and giving his wounded soldier a smile.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Sorry this is shorter than usual. The holidays have been very busy, but joyful too.**_

Surprisingly, Aramis and Athos behaved themselves in the next week, an almost unheard of scenario, especially in Aramis' case.

Aramis put a little more weight on his still slightly emaciated frame, and continued to enjoy the special 'treats' Serge kept sending him with his meals. Porthos continued to wonder how to get on Serge's 'favorites' list and be the recipient of the 'treats', as well.

One day Dr. Lemay came to examine his patients. He released Athos from bed rest and told him he could be on limited duty, but very limited, he said with a smile.

He told Aramis his body was slowly healing, and no more infection was apparent. That brought a smile, not only from Aramis, but from his brothers and Treville, too. Lemay then added, "That does not mean you will be traipsing around the garrison yet," sobering Aramis' smile, but not completely erasing it.

"I will be back later in the week, and if he is doing as well as I am seeing at the moment, we may actually try getting him up for a few minutes," he told them, which brought even bigger smiles, especially from Aramis. "IF you do not try it on your own before then," Lemay told him when he saw that smile.

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In still another dingy tavern on the very outskirts of Paris, the four farmers had met once again. They met each week, every time at another tavern. They had heard that the Musketeers had visited the shop of the woodworker where Black Wing had bought the two carved boxes, so they were being more cautious.

"It was sure a good thing that we took care of that woodworker," the thin, middle-aged man said.

Black Wing nodded, saying, "Sure was, Georges. We need to keep one step ahead of those Musketeers until we finish our business in Paris. Then, we can return to our farms and settle down again. Anyone hear anything about the garrison?", looking around at each of his men.

"Seems there was an altercation inside the garrison a couple of weeks ago. That Musketeer we are after was involved, and one of his friends. But the garrison seems to be keeping details quiet. Don't know what it was about. They were both injured, but recovering."

"That is good, then. We want to be the executioners, not some faceless man for an unknown reason. Keep your eyes and ears open. We need to take care of things soon," and lifting his tankard, gave a mock salute to each of them before downing his drink and banging it down on the table.

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Athos, since he couldn't do a whole lot yet because of his injury, spent more time at Aramis' bedside. Even though Aramis was mostly asleep except for times before and during meals, Athos needed to be with him.

I failed him again, he thought, the guilt roiling around his insides. First, I drove him out into the night where he was waylaid and almost killed from a month of abuse. Now, I couldn't even protect him from being threatened in his own room. He rubbed a hand wearily down his face.

He is forever sacrificing himself for us. Why couldn't I have found a way to do the same? He throws himself in front of us and of others to saves lives, always thinking of others first. He works himself ragged when one of us is sick or injured to make us well, then doesn't want us to have to do that for him, always trying to hide an injury or illness from us. He doesn't want us to have to sacrifice so much for him. Does he never realize how much we want to do for him as he does for us?

He has the biggest heart I have ever known. He gives and never stops giving. He always has a smile or a funny story to bring someone out of a bad or sad mood. He always has the time to give shooting lessons to the cadets, and sometimes even to the veterans among us, even if he had already had plans to do something else.

Athos stopped for a moment, just rubbing his thumb softly in circles on the back of Aramis' hand. His thoughts went back to the beginning of their nightmare. If I had not...He stopped himself, then went on.

If I just had not ridden him so hard and so often about the Queen, none of this would have happened. I have a lot of room to talk. Look at what I did-tried to hang my own wife. I should think twice before being so hard on anyone else for their mistakes.

Thank goodness Aramis is so incredibly good with firearms! He could barely move, and had broken fingers, and he still took out Emile. What would we have done if the man had carried out his evil intention to kill Aramis? I would not have been able to live with myself.

We are going to keep an eagle eye on our surroundings from now on, he vowed. If those farmers, soldiers, or whatever they are try to come in here and finish what they did, they will find more trouble than they will know what to do with! It was one thing to waylay someone who was so preoccupied at the time. Taking on his brothers and the garrison will seem like a war if they try anything!

Growing sleepier from the med Porthos had sneaked into his meal, Athos, still with Aramis' hand clasped in his own, carefully stretched out beside his brother, and closed his eyes in slumber.

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Dr. Lemay was as good as his word, and showed up again later in the week. After checking Aramis and Athos out, he declared Athos back to full duty. Then, he turned to Aramis and said, "If I give permission for you to try sitting up-in bed only-for a few days, are you going to only sit up? Your brothers are going to be keeping a close eye on you that you sit and do nothing more, but I would like your word that you will not try to get out of bed or any other form of movement until I give the word." He stopped, waiting for Aramis' reply.

Aramis was already jubilant over the prospect of being partially upright. He eagerly nodded his head, and Lemay turned to the others, saying, "We have his word. I want one of you with him at all times." After he saw three heads nod, he got up to leave.

After he was gone, Aramis just lay there with a smile. They were happy that he was progressing in healing enough to be allowed more movement. They knew how hard it was for him to lie there day after day, especially since he had been prone through his captivity, as well. They were rejoicing, as well.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Hopefully, there aren't many grammatical mistakes in this chapter. I wanted to get it out to you before the very busy weekend took my time. We are getting closer to the end of this story, but an event takes place first that nearly tears Aramis' brothers' hearts apart over the next couple of chapters or so.**_

His brothers both assisted and restrained Aramis in the next week. He found that he still needed some help sitting up for a couple of days, but then was able to do it for himself, to his evident happiness. But once he was able to, then they needed to keep an eye on him to prevent his doing more than Lemay had suggested. They knew their brother. He always downplayed his injuries when he was able to, and he was definitely getting back to normal in that regard. They knew better than to turn a blind eye to him at this stage in his recovery.

Lemay came at the end of the week, and was pleased at his progress. So pleased, in fact, that he gave Aramis permission to try getting out of bed. He told his patient that once he was able to stand up without his head spinning, he could try a few steps. But he also gave him a stern warning to be honest and tell his brothers if he was dizzy. He told Aramis it wouldn't do to hide things like that, because it could,and probably would, come back to haunt him. He could end up flat on his back for several more weeks if he tried to cut corners.

He told Aramis how pleased he was that he was doing better, laying a hand on his shoulder as he said it. Then, he went out the door with Athos, and told him to make Aramis follow his orders. Athos quirked a eyebrow up, and said, "I think he knows by now that we are not going to let him get away with anything. We came too close to losing him. But we thank you for the warning. He will find us impossible to shake, doctor, no matter how many ways he will try to do so."

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Next morning, they found that Aramis indeed was up to his old ways. Athos and d'Artagnan had gone down for muster, just to see what was happening in the garrison as they had been somewhat out-of-touch for a while. Porthos was at the fireplace heating the breakfast d'Artagnan had brought up before he went back out again.

Portho was just spooning it into a bowl when he heard a thud. Heart in his throat, he spun around to find Aramis hanging on for dear life to the table next to the bed. Crossing the room in quick strides, he grabbed Aramis gently but firmly around the waist and deposited him back on the side of the bed with a glare.

"What did Lemay tell you?" he demanded in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

"I was only trying to stand up, Porthos," Aramis replied, with a mock-hurt expression on his face.

Porthos was having none of Aramis' sympathy-getting, though. He knew his brother, and he knew when the hurt expression was real and when it was feigned.

"By rights, I should tell Lemay what you just did," he threatened. Aramis froze, as scenes of bed confinement went through his head. "He did say that we were to be with you when you tried getting out of bed."

"You wouldn't," he countered hopefully.

"This is to be your one-and-only try at bouncing your head on the floor. You promise me that, yeah?" Porthos demanded softly. "If you had hurt yourself again, you would be right back at no tries at all. Promise me?"

Seeing the determined, but lovingly worried look in his brother's face, Aramis lowered his head as he said, "Yes."

Porthos leaned his head in closer, saying, "What was that?"

"YES!" Aramis repeated, much louder than before, just as Athos and d'Artagnan came back in the door.

"That was a mighty forceful 'yes'," Athos deadpanned, looking at Aramis and Porthos.

Aramis' eyes were on Porthos, and his brother knew exactly what Aramis was silently pleading, 'Please don't tell them.' Porthos smirked, and responded, "I asked him if peaches and cream in his porridge were all right with him. You know how he loves Serge's food."

Athos and d'Artagnan looked extremely skeptical of that answer, but Porthos could see the look of sheer gratitude Aramis threw himand didn't respond, so the matter was dropped. But Athos and d'Artagnan had a pretty good idea of what was being unsaid anyway.

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The following morning, Porthos and Athos were ready when Aramis wanted to try standing up. He sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments. They told him to let them know when the room stopped spinning, and then he could try standing.

He was being on his best behavior, and indeed did wait as they had asked him. He could feel the dizziness in his head, and being a medic, knew it was going to take a few times before he could just stand right up without waiting. But he was also frustrated at his slow progress.

He finally nodded, and they gently grabbed him under the shoulders to assist him in standing. If he had thought the spinning was finished, he found out in a big hurry that it was twice as bad when he was finally upright. But he was so elated to be on his feet again, even if it was with assistance, that he didn't care.

However, Athos and Porthos, who knew Aramis as well as he knew them, could see that he wasn't steady at all yet, so they kept their hold on him.

It took a few minutes this time, but finally Aramis nodded his head and they let go of him, their hands ready to grab him again if he lost his balance. But he didn't. He waited a little, then tentatively took a step. His balance was obviously going to be rusty, so he wavered. But he stayed on his feet. So he tried another. Then, one more. This time, they could see his body quiver, and grabbed him, guiding him back to the bed.

Aramis was jubilant. Three steps on his first try. It was a complete success in his mind, and Athos and Porthos this time agreed with him. Silently, they were shouting for joy at the progress made that day.

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Constance brought the news of Aramis' attempts to Anne, who was very happy at the good news. She wished so badly that she could go to him, but there was no way, with Rochefort around, that she dared try anything like that.

She contented herself with asking Constance to bring him some delicacies she had had the palace cook prepare for him. She thought with sadness, what I wouldn't give to at least send him a note. But she didn't dare do as much as that, either. She didn't ever want to selfish enough to endanger his life because she needed to communicate with him.

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The farmers had once again got together in yet another tavern to discuss strategy.

"We need to plan ahead," Black Wing told them. "Those Musketeers are not stupid, so it won't be easy to accomplish our mission. They are also pretty deadly as fighters, too, from what I've heard,so we need to be extra careful. But we will take care of our business, no matter what." They all solemnly nodded their heads at that comment, determination showing on their faces.

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By the end of the next week, Aramis had progressed to reaching the other side of the room. Then, came the day his brothers helped him get dressed for the first time in over two months. Then, he slowly walked with their assistance outside to their table. Serge was standing there, just beaming. He seemed to have every breakfast item from his pantry waiting for them. The whole table was loaded with anything Aramis could possibly want to eat.

Exhausted by the length of the walk he had just finished, Aramis sank to the bench, but with a triumphant smile, one all his brothers took delight in sharing with him.

Athos had suggested walking around in the garrison grounds to build his strength back. Aramis was rather embarrassed to have any of the other Musketeers and cadets see him so slow and awkward yet, and having his brothers accompanying him in case he got dizzy or fell, but his happiness at his progress was more important to him in the end. He looked around, and saw nothing but smiles and encouragement on the faces of the garrison members, and grinned back at them.

He was now not getting so out of breath from his exertions, and knew that was a good sign. He also didn't get dizzy any more when he sat or stood up. His footsteps were much more sure, which gave him more confidence, as well.

One morning while eating breakfast, he asked his brothers about going outside the garrison to the vendor carts for some fruit. They were skeptical of doing that yet, but he begged them so much that they finally gave in.

It was slow going, but eventually, they made it to his favorite vendor, the one who sold the apples he loved so much. The man greeted him and asked where he had been for so long. Porthos took the man aside and filled him in, the man's face one of shock when he had finished. Coming back to where Aramis was picking out a couple of apples from the man's supply, he told him to take as many as he wanted-no cost. Aramis tried to protest, but the man was insistent, saying he was just very glad to have his best customer back with them.

No one noticed the set of eyes watching every move they had made since they had left the garrison gates.

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Aramis was so happy, he felt like he was floating on air. He was finally getting closer to living a normal life, something he was beginning to have serious doubts about after the nightmarish time he had just been through. It felt so good to be able to do some of the ordinary things of life for himself.

His brothers were still keeping a close eye on him. He felt their gazes in whatever he was doing. But they did it because they loved him, as he loved them, so of course they wanted to make sure he was careful until he was at full strength again. He couldn't fault them for that.

It was a beautiful spring day, soft blue sky and puffy clouds overhead. He could hear the birds chirping,and garrison members going about their daily routines. He wasn't allowed to be on even very limited duty yet, but he was confident that it would come along sooner or later.

He had asked his brothers to take another walk with him out among the vendors and shops. Porthos was with him at the moment, and the others would be along in a few minutes, they assured him. He wanted to visit the bakery where Athos bought the chocolate he had brought to him the other day, and see if they had any more. He had never tasted anything so mouthwatering good before.

Once the others had joined he and Porthos, they set out through the garrison gates.

It was fairly short walk to the bakery he wanted to visit. After they had each purchased a tiny bit of the chocolate (it was unbelievably expensive, the Queen just having introduced the treat sent her from Spain), Athos expressed a need to visit the bootmakers. D'Artagnan accompanied him, and Aramis and Porthos sat down on the bricks lining the circular top of a nearby well to wait for them to return.

Aramis enjoyed just watching the daily activities of the people in the crowded square go about their business, haggling with the vendors and making purchases. Porthos enjoyed watching his brother getting back to normal, and making comments on different people and what they were doing.

But the peace of the morning was suddenly interrupted when a man shoved a vendor and took off with some of his merchandise for sale. Aramis was the one who spotted what was happening, and knowing he wasn't in any shape to chase after the thief, he told Porthos to go after him.

Porthos protested, not wanting to leave Aramis, but Aramis said it was their duty. He grumbled but gave in, making his brother promise him he would stay right at the well until he returned. He thought that since the marketplace was so busy, someone would see if there was any cause for concern.

He had barely turned the corner of the next street, when a little blond-haired girl came running towards him, arms waving and looking scared. Aramis stopped her by putting an arm gently around her shoulder, and in a soft voice, asked her what was wrong.

"My brother," she blurted out. "My brother is hurt. Please, can you help?" her big blue eyes looking imploringly at him.

He hesitated a moment, remembering his promise to Porthos. But the children were in trouble, and he couldn't turn his back on them. Besides, they were children. What harm could there be?

Getting up from the well's edge, he asked the little girl to lead the way, and followed her. She picked up her skirts again and ran off. He followed slowly, not yet at the stage that he could run. But being an adult, even his walking steps were able to keep up with her. She wove the people shopping around the busy marketplace, Aramis beginning to struggle to keep up with her.

She turned a corner into an alleyway, and all of a sudden disappeared. He followed slowly, calling out to her, wondering where she had gone.

He was several steps into the alleyway, when hands came around him, one covering his mouth, the other shoving him hard up against the wall of one of the buildings lining the alleyway. He struggled weakly, but was clearly no match for whoever had attacked him, as they kept him pinned against the brick wall.

Then, a voice out of his worst nightmares whispered in a quiet growl into his ear, "We meet again, Musketeer. This time we finish what we started."


	29. Chapter 29

Athos and d'Artagnan came back from the bakery laden with treats for Aramis and themselves. Reaching the well, they looked around for either of their brothers. Neither one of them was around, and their faces frowned at their unexpected disappearance.

Just then, Porthos rounded a corner and headed their way. He had already noticed that Aramis was missing and his pace sped up. When he joined the others, he said, "Where is Aramis?"

Athos answered, "We have not seen him. Where did you go?"

"There was an incident with a thief stealing one of the cart vendor's goods, and Aramis told me to go after him. I didn't want to leave him alone, but he said he would stay put. He said what could happen with so many vendors and people shopping? I caught the thief easily enough, and handed him over to some Red Guards to take care of. What happened to Aramis?" he asked, looking from one to the other of them.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Athos replied. "There was no one here when we left the bakery. Why do we not question a few of the vendors and shoppers, and see if they saw anything," moving toward the apple vendor as he spoke.

All three of them were worried, a sinking feeling invading their stomachs at the thought that something had happened to their brother, just when he was starting to feel better and some of his old *joie de vivre had come back.

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"Leave him alone," the young girl shouted, waving her arms. "You said we were playing a joke," tears streaking down her face at the brutality of the men. "You said he was your friend."

One of the men went over to her and grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. He handed her a small coin, and said, "Get out of here. We have business," and shoving her in the small of her back towards the opening to the alleyway, he watched as she slowly moved away, looking back over her shoulder as she did so. She could tell they were very mean men, and she was very afraid now. Finally, she picked up her skirts and ran.

One of the other men said, "She is a witness. She could cause trouble for us."

"I'm not going to hurt a little one," the man said, "just this dog who deserves it," indicating Aramis, who was still being forcibly restrained.

Aramis was a very brave man, but he had been through a trauma that could have broken anyone. He was still trying to break free, but hadn't the strength to combat these men's grips.

He was justifiably afraid. They had nearly killed him once, and he had almost not made it. His insides were shaking at what could happen. "I don't want to die," he thought.

Black Wing nodded his head, and Aramis felt rope encircling his wrists. He tried to fight harder, but they just laughed at his feeble efforts. He felt the rope tied and yanked tight as he was kept against the wall. He could barely breathe with the hand over his mouth.

Then, Black Wing got in his face again. "We brought something for you," lifting his hand in front of Aramis' face. Aramis blanched at the sight, and desperation caused him to struggle anew, trying frantically to twist his body and get free from what he was being shown. But he was helpless as Black Wing put the dreaded muzzle against his mouth.

He could feel the metal pieces pulled around his face to the back, and he still struggled feebly. Then, he heard the ominous click of the lock behind his head. Something inside of him seemed to break at that. "I am going to die now," he despairingly thought. He just hoped it would be before they were able to put him through much more of the pain he had gone through before.

His mind seemed to empty as he considered the hopelessness of his situation. His struggling now ceased. His body went totally limp, as did his face. The light in his eyes seemed to extinguish as he felt that all hope was now gone. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he knew no more.

The farmers didn't understand why he passed out, looking at each other in confusion. Black Wing just shrugged, and told them to get moving before Aramis' friends came after them.

They lifted his body and carried it to a waiting wagon at the end of the alleyway that was filled with boxes and burlap bags. Opening one of the boxes, they threw him in, and closing the lid, latched it from the outside. One of them climbed up on the seat of the wagon, while the others mounted their horses. Moving out into the busy street, they calmly moved on their way.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had questioned the vendors in the square, but since it had been a busy morning, their attention had been on their customers, and none of them had seen a thing. Frustration and worry clouded all three Musketeers faces as they came back to the last place they had seen Aramis-the well.

Just then, a little blonde-haired girl came running towards them. Stopping when she reached them, she tried to speak, but she was so out of breath from running, she couldn't. Porthos knelt down and asked if she was all right.

The little girl looked at the pauldron on Porthos' shoulder, then up to Athos and d'Artagnan's shoulders, as well.

"You have the same thing on your arms as him," she finally managed to get out.

She had just got all three of them's undivided attention.

Athos knelt next to Porthos, and gently asked the girl, "You have seen someone else with these," indicating the pauldron on his shoulder.

The little girl eagerly nodded her head. "They said they wanted me to play a joke on him. They wanted me to ask him to come and help my brother. But...but..."

Her voice trailed off, and they had to prompt her to continue, as time was of the essence now. "Who asked you to do this?"

At her next words, their worry ratcheted up. She said "Some farmers with a wagon in an alley. They were real mean to him. He was nice to me, and I told them to leave him alone, but one of them just gave me a coin and pushed me towards the street. I looked behind me. They were tying his hands. Why would they be so mean?" her eyes misty with tears and confusion. She didn't understand what had happened.

Athos put his hand on her shoulder, and said, "We are the King's Musketeers. That is what the pauldron on our shoulders means," pointing to show her what he meant. "He is our brother. Could you show us where this happened, please?" He was being as gentle as possible, as she had already had the fright of her life. They needed her to show them where this had happened as quickly as possible.

She nodded her head, and grabbed Porthos' and Athos' hands, pulling them back the way she had just come. When they reached the alleyway, there was no one there, and no cart.

D'Artagnan studied the marks on the ground, and said, "They drove off in the wagon."

They told the little girl to run to her house, and stay inside, not to come out again. They didn't want a chance of the farmers seeing her again, although they thought that possibility was rather remote. They seemed to have a destination in mind already.

Heading for the street, they soon found tracks from the wagon, heading east. But a few feet along the way, the tracks disappeared into the many cart and wagon tracks of market day activities.

They decided to continue on in the way the tracks had been leading first, hoping their quarry didn't veer off into a side street.

Just when their spirits had drooped, thinking their hopes were dashed, Athos said, "That little girl said the wagon was filled with boxes and burlap bags. Do you see the cart in front of us?"

The cart was exactly as the girl had described it. Athos signalled for Porthos and d'Artagnan to go around it to the left, while he went to the right. He moved a little further ahead and saw bushy black eyebrows.

Drawing his sword and rapier simultaneously, he leaped from his horse. Porthos and d'Artagnan followed suit. The farmers saw the motions and drew their weapons, as well, leaping from the cart. Two of them made themselves a barrier between the Musketeers and the back of the wagon, while Black Wing took off when he saw Athos bearing down on him.

Porthos took on the two in back of the wagon, while d'Artagnan engaged the other farmer. The fighting was fast, furious and dirty, both sides holding no tricks back as they came at each other.

Porthos had his hands full with the two he fought. His only thought was to end the fight as quickly as possible, and see if they had put Aramis somewhere on the cart. He was afraid of what shape he might find his brother in. But they gave him a very hard time.

Just when he thought he might overcome one of them, the other drew his pistol and fired, startling the horses that had been drawing the wagon. They took off, and Porthos and d'Artagnan, who could see the wagon careening down the busy street, were unable to do anything about it with three men between it and them. The thought of Aramis being helpless in that fast-moving wagon was like a knife stabbing them in the heart, and they fought even harder to win free and find him before it was too late and the wagon overturned and crashed into something.

Meanwhile, Athos chased after Black Wing through the streets, and then down several side streets, the man always just out of reach. Finally, Black Wing turned into a street that came to an abrupt end. Looking to his right, then to his left, he hurriedly went through a back door into a dingy tavern. Athos followed him right in.

As soon as he had entered, Athos shouted, "Block the front door!" in a commanding voice. Just his tone of voice had several men rushing to do as he had said. Black Wing turned back to face him, snarling, "Your friend is dead to you now, Musketeer. And you will be, too, when I get done!" heading for Athos as he spoke.

Athos, sword in hand, looked calm and reserved, but inside he was seething. He literally couldn't wait to run the man through, something he rarely contemplated before a fight. He advanced towards the man heading for him.

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The wagon kept on moving at a rapid speed down the street, until a cart coming suddenly from a side street startled the horses. They swerved violently, and headed down an alleyway. The wagon wasn't able to turn as sharply as the horses, and hit the wall a slight way down the alleyway, spilling the contents in the back to the ground.


	30. Chapter 30

The shabbily-dressed young woman slowly picked her way through the wreckage she had found in the alleyway, holding the hem of her tattered skirts high to avoid their snagging on the splintered wood of the wagon. She had seen what she thought could be a hand lying amongst the boxes and bags against the wall. A kind-hearted woman, her only thought at the moment was to pick her way around the wagon until she could ascertain if it was indeed someone lying there.

"Marie!" A man's voice called out urgently to her. Coming around the corner from the street, a sandy-haired man searched in the midday gloom of the alleyway for the woman he was calling.

"I am over her, Jacques," she answered, her eyes never leaving the focus of her efforts. "There may be someone in this wreckage."

Knowing his wife's tender heart, the man joined her in her efforts.

Coming another cautious step closer, the woman's hand went to her mouth, as she indeed beheld someone amongst the pieces of the accident.

"Jacques, my love, please, I need your help here!" she called out.

He quickly joined her. He lifted several broken boards, remnants of the slats that had formed the sides of a work wagon, and revealed there was an unconscious man, most of his body inside one of the boxes, only his head, shoulders and one arm outside the box. This told them he had been put into the box, probably locked in, as there was a broken latch on top. They both gasped as they got a closer look at him, shocked to find that he was bound and something metal covering his mouth. Who would do such a thing?

The man quickly but carefully pulled aside the rest of the debris from around the man's body. His wife said urgently, "We need to get him to safety! If he has been kidnapped like this, someone will be searching for him, possibly to harm him further. Let us take him back to our house, Jacques. Hurry!"

Jacques hesitated a moment, not wanting to bring trouble, possibly violence, into their home. But he knew his wife,and she would not rest until she had been able to bring this poor injured soul to safety, and tend whatever injuries he most certainly had.

Knowing they couldn't stop long enough to cut him loose until they had brought him somewhere safer, he bent and gently lifted the man out of the box and into his arms, and with Marie at his side, left the accident scene as quickly as he was safely able to do so.

Marie took off her apron, wrapping it carefully around the unconscious man to hide his identity from any possible threats as they turned onto the street. They earned a few curious glances from people busy with their market purchases, but no one stopped them or called out.

It took a while to reach their little home, a rather ramshackle little building a good mile from where the wagon had crashed. Jacques carried the man inside and laid him, at Marie's direction, on their wooden table.

Grabbing one of the kitchen knives, he slit through the tightly-bound ropes around the man's wrists, revealing dark red grooves left by the restraints. But when he carefully turned the man's head to take the metal device from his mouth, he frowned as he saw that it locked in back. Again, he wondered, who would do something like this? And he couldn't help but wonder which side of the law this man was on. He knew Red Guards could be pretty brutal, and some of the soldiers as well. But he had never seen anything like this before.

Thinking for a moment, he said, "We need Jules, Marie. Being a blacksmith, he will know how to removed this device. But I do not want to leave you alone with this man. We do not know why he was restrained,and he could be dangerous."

Marie responded, "The ones we have to fear are men who would do this to someone. It is barbaric, Jacques. Go and get Jules. I have nothing to fear from this poor man. He is not even conscious, and looks to be injured, as well. Please, my love. Go!"

Looking one more time from his wife to the unconscious man, Jacques slowly turned and left, still not completely sure he was doing the right thing leaving his wife alone.

Marie, left alone with the unconscious man, sat next to him, and slowly started stroking the top of his head, tossling the man's unruly curls. She hoped she was bringing him some form of comfort, but really didn't know. But as she laid a hand against his cheek, he leaned into it, even though he was still not awake. Her heart ached to think what he had been through. She could see the faded bruising on his face, which told her this wasn't the first time he had been hurt, maybe by the same men.

Leaning down, she whispered softly to him, "They will not find you here, I promise. We will take good care of you, monsieur," knowing he couldn't hear her, but making the vow to him anyway.

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Black Wing was not a fearful man. But something inside of him gave a shiver as he looked into his opponent's eyes. He was used to men backing away from him, his tough demeanor and belligerent nature speaking volumes to those around him. But this man showed no fear whatever, despite the fact that Black Wing was half a head taller, much stockier built and had a fierce scowl on his face. He looked almost...calm? I will take that look off his face, he boasted to himself.

Coming near the man, he began to circle around him, looking for an opening to attack. Athos just remained in the center of the tavern, drawn sword crossways in front of his chest. Black Wing, an impatient man anyway, assessed his opponent as he passed around him, seeing no fear, no anxiety, just a frustratingly calm man with a face that reflected no sign of any inner turmoil or nervousnness. He wasn't used to this, he thought. Every man has a weakness, this one included. By the time I get finished with him, I will know and find a way to use whatever it is to kill him.

He made the first move, flicking his sword towards Athos' left shoulder. He couldn't believe how swiftly the move was parried, with seemingly no effort at all by his opponent. He barely had reacted to the move, when the sword again moved, slashing through his doublet on his left shoulder, to open a thin line of red on the skin beneath. Then, stepping back, Athos waited.

Black Wing again tried, this time towards the Musketeers' right side. But, as before, he had barely made his move before it was countered in the exact same way, slicing the skin of his right side through the doublet.

He was through being dainty and polite. He thrust boldly at his opponent's chest, wanting to goad him into more action, supremely confident that he would be the victor in the end. Athos calmly parried the move, and this time,made a move of his own, his rapier reaching for the man's leg and leaving a long bleeding cut down the side.

Black Wing was mad, now reaching out with his free hand to punch his opponent. But all he met with was air, as Athos backed away, then sliced down the other leg.

The onlookers, having noticed Athos' pauldron on his shoulder, were saying to each other, "Musketeers! This man must be wanted," and backing away a bit from the fighting, figuring he must be desperate to get out of there and not wanting to get caught in the middle.

Black Wing was now just trying to fend off Athos' attack, recognizing too late just how good he was with a sword. But Athos was nipping at the man, a slice here, a jab there, and Black Wing was getting the feeling he was playing with him. How dare he?

The number of times he had been nicked and jabbed was beginning to take a toll on him. He was losing blood from them, and they were beginning to feel more and more painful. If he continued to be on the receiving end of this, he could lose his sharpness and find his life ended.

But he realized there wasn't much he could do to stop him at the moment. He was also realizing, a little too late, that Athos was not like other opponents he had faced in his lifetime, where he could distract or upset him to gain an advantage. Athos was even deadlier when he was angry, and yet kept a cool head about him.

Athos backed him across the room until the man was against the bar. Black Wing suddenly thought of a way he could get back into the fight. It was playing dirty, but he had never much cared for rules anyway.

Grabbing behind him, his hand closed around a heavy tankard, and in one motion, he moved his arm forward and flung the contents of the cup at Athos' face. But his luck had run out, as the tankard had been empty! Athos, not surprised in the least at the underhanded attempt, pinned Black Wing against the wood of the bar, and just held him there for a moment, letting the man squirm.

Then, he let him up, and in a series of lightning moves, drove him across the room, continuing to nick him in various spots on his body. The crowd in the tavern was calling for him to finish the man. Black Wing now knew he was going to die at this man's hand, and desperately tried to get away, but Athos wasn't going to allow that.

Black Wing grabbed hold ofa chair back, lifting it to fling at Athos, but didn't watch where he was going. He tripped over another chair which had been overturned in the midst of the fight, and ended up on his back on the floor, pinned by Athos' sword.

"You will die here, as the scum that you are," Athos spoke low and deadly to him.

"I was just administering justice for my abused and murdered wife and for my friends' women," Black Wing spat back. "You may kill me, but that so-called friend of yours will die, as well, and finally justice will truly be served."

That was the exact wrong thing to say to Athos at the moment. He was already inwardly seething, and he hissed, "That friend of mine is one of the most honorable, brave men I have ever had the privilege to know. You kidnapped, tortured and nearly killed a completely innocent man, who has risked his life many times over as a Musketeer to protect our royal family, and to bring to justice the wrongdoers of this land. We executed the real killer when he was exposed. You will now die for the evil you have perpetrated."

Black Wing wriggled against the floor, getting his sword up between he and Athos. But Athos slammed it away, and, in one deadly move, thrust his sword directly into the man's heart, pinning him to the floor and killing him instantly. He died with a look of utter shock on his face, as if he couldn't believe it had happened to him.

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Porthos and d'Artagnan had finally put an end to their opponents, and now gazed down the street, not knowing how far the wagon had travelled withe Aramis trapped in the back of it. Beginning to question shoppers and vendors in the area, they got no clear answers to assist them. The people in the area had been engrossed in watching the fighting, not the runaway wagon.

Worry eating away at them, they rounded up their horses, and headed down the street in the direction they had seen the wagon go, leading Athos' horse behind them. They hadn't gone too far when Athos emerged from an alleyway. Relief lit the faces of all three of them, as they hadn't known how each other fared against their opponents til then.

"Where is Aramis?" Athos asked, as soon as he saw them.

"We need to find that wagon, Athos," Porthos responded. "One of the farmers' guns went off, and the wagon took off up this street. If something would spook the horses again, it could crash, with Aramis probably helpless in the back somewhere." Panic edged Porthos' voice, fear for his dear friend coloring each word he spoke, and the others felt the same way. It also spoke volumes of the worry filling their minds for their friend that neither Porthos or d'Artagnan asked Athos about Black Wing. They only had one thing they were focussing on right now.

They urged their horses quickly up the street, keen eyes searching every side street and alleyway for any sign of the missing wagon.

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Marie stayed at Aramis' side while she waited for Jacques to bring his brother, the blacksmith, back. She continued to try to give what little comfort she could to the unconscious man.

Gazing at his face, she wondered who he was, and what kind of trouble he had been a victim of. She had little doubt in her mind that he had done nothing to deserve his present situation. It was just a feeling she had.

She thought to herself, he is a very nice-looking man. He must have half the ladies of Paris after him, she mused, not knowing how accurate her assessment was. She could now see, in quieter moments, the empty holsters and sheaths on his belts. Was he some kind of soldier, she asked herself. Most men did not carry so many weapons on their persons.

Then, she leaned closer to look at the curious emblem on his shoulder. She and Jacques had not lived in Paris for very long, having come from a tiny village in Burgundy to find work in the large city, so she was not familiar yet with Musketeers or the fleur-de-lys emblem that was their symbol. She traced the engraved pauldron, curious, but not having any way to know what it meant.

It was while she was gazing at it that she felt a movement. She looked at his face, and saw his eyes starting to open.

"Monsieur," she softly spoke to him.

But when his eyes had opened, they seemed to gaze at nothing, staring up at the ceiling, unblinking, unfocused as yet. .

"Monsieur," she tried again, with the same result. But he showed no recognition of a voice speaking to him, his eyes blank and yet with something despairing in the depths of them.

She leaned down further, and spoke again. "It is all right, monsieur. We will take care of you. You just be still and rest now," again running her fingers gently through his curls. A few moments later, his eyes fluttered shut again.


	31. Chapter 31

Jacques came back with his brother a short time later, and he removed the device from Aramis, who never awoke during the procedure. Marie asked her brother-in-law to please not breathe a word of having seen him, not knowing who the men were who had done this or if they might be searching for him right at that moment.

She intended to keep him safe until they could find out who he was, and get him home again. She never let go of his hand the whole time the muzzle was being removed, gently squeezing it in the hope that he could somehow feel that someone was caring for him, but she saw no movement.

She stayed by his side all day. She knew he was going to need nourishment, and since he was asleep or unconscious, she tried dribbling a little water through his lips. Not much got in, but she thought to herself, even a little at a time is better than none. She would have to wait until he woke up to try some broth or porridge.

He awoke early next morning, but he remained as he had been the other time he had awakened. He stared straight ahead of himself, but his eyes were unfocused. She thought to herself, it's like he has given up hope. What horrors has he been through to cause this?

She tried to give him a few spoonfuls of broth, but there was no awareness, and his lips refused to open to her gentle nudging. Then, his eyes slowly closed once more. She didn't know what to do. She had taken care of her brother's small son and daughter once in a while, but never a grown man, and never someone who had obviously been severely maltreated. She would keep trying whenever he woke up, she told herself. Sooner or later, maybe he would recognize that she was trying to help him.

But the situation went on for the next two days with no change. She tried talking to him, asking him his name and where he was from, but got the same blank face and no recognition that he even heard her voice when she looked into his eyes. She was so worried for him, but didn't know how to help him. She had never encountered anything like this.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had searched every side street and alleyway along the street the wagon had careened through, finally finding the wreckage in a dark, refuse-littered alleyway. Boxes and burlap bags were strewn everywhere, along with pieces of the shattered wagon. They searched through everything, finally realizing that Aramis wasn't there. Where had he gone? Had he been well enough and unfettered to walk away from the scene-or had someone got there before them and taken him?

They didn't know how many of the farmers there were. They had thought they had taken care of them in the fighting, but what if there were still more men out here somewhere, who once more had spirited Aramis away?

They searched until the darkness of night fell, forcing an end to their frantic hunt until morning. It was with very heavy hearts that they reluctantly turned their horses back towards the garrison, the same feelings from the previous time he was missing filling their hearts. Where was their beloved brother?

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For the next two days, they searched endlessly, questioning everyone they could think of who might have witnessed what happened.

Two different women had seen a young couple carrying something covered with what looked like an old, worn yellow apron, but they didn't know if it was a person hidden underneath or things they had purchased. One of the women did say the woman seemed very concerned for whatever was under the apron, keeping one hand on it as they walked. But neither woman had any reason to keep watching to see where they had gone with their burden. No, when asked, they said the couple were not dressed as farmers. The one possible good thing about the situation was that if Aramis was with them, at least he wasn't in danger of being tormented again by any remnant of the vindictive farmers.

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The morning after they returned without Aramis, Constance came by to see Aramis. When she was told he wasn't there, she asked where he was. The cadet couldn't tell her, as he didn't know.

Constance came back several times during the day to see if Athos, Porthos or d'Artagnan had come back from wherever they had got themselves to. Anne had asked her to give Aramis a message, and she intended to deliver it for her friend.

Finally, just as the sun was setting, the Musketeers came through the gates, their footsteps dragging as they led their horses. Constance could see at once that all was not well, their faces were full of worry and upset, and picking up her skirts,she ran to meet them.

D'Artagnan caught her around the waist, and kissed her on the cheek, but his eyes were so sad, she thought.

"What is wrong?" she demanded, looking first at d'Artagnan, then the others. When no one spoke, she asked again, a little more urgently.

D'Artagnan, catching Athos' eye, turned back to Costance. "Aramis is missing."

"What?!" she gasped, not at all what she thought he would say.

"We were on a short foray to the bakery, to pick up some of the chocolate Aramis loves so much. It seems that Aramis told Porthos to go catch a thief who had just pilfered his favorite apple vendor's cart, assuring Porthos he would remain at the well til he returned.

But a little girl came and asked for his help,and he went with her. She had been promised a few coins by some men for helping them "play a trick" on a friend. Only the men turned out to be the farmers who had nearly killed Aramis. They took off with him, but we caught up with them."

He stopped for a moment, and Constance looked around her. "If you caught up with them, where is Aramis?"

"While we were fighting the kidnappers, something spooked the horses pulling the wagon they had hidden Aramis in, and they took off. When we had taken care of the men, we searched for the wagon, and..." he couldn't go on for a moment.

"D'Artagnan, where is Aramis, please?" Constance asked again.

"We finally found the wagon in another alleyway. It was shattered, boxes and burlap bags everywhere. But...but no sign of Aramis. He wasn't there," he said, almost in a whisper as his emotions became too much for him to continue.

Athos continued, "We have searched everywhere, and have not found him. Two women saw a young couple carrying a heavy burden covered by the woman's apron, but we do not know if they had Aramis, or just had bought some goods to take home. We will search until we find him, and bring him home, Constance."

Porthos had become silent, but his eyes betrayed his emotions. Constance could see the look in them, as if he was holding the tears back.

How could she go back and tell Anne this, after she had been so happy the past few days that Aramis was getting well? She squeezed d'Artagnan's hand, saying, "I am sure you are going to find him, and he will be fine," not knowing herself if she believed that, but wanting to be positive and encouraging to them, as she slowly turned around and headed out of the garrison to give a message she really wished she didn't have to relay.

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Marie was beside herself. She was worried sick that they couldn't get any food into the man. Jacques told her that a person could survive for a while without food, but they needed to keep dribbling the water in as much as they could, as water was vital. A person could only go about 3 days without liquids. So she faithfully tried numerous times each day, hoping she was getting enough into him.

Jacques could see that the wife he loved was wearing herself out tending to the man. He decided to go get her younger sister, Jehanne, to help. She and her husband, Guillaume, lived not far from them, and could come during the day to assist her. Not telling Marie where he was going, he said he had an errand and left.

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Marie had just finished running a wet cloth over Aramis' torso to wipe away the accumulated sweat from the fever she had begun to nurse him through when her husband came back with her sister and niece.

She turned to them with a smile, happy that Jehanne could come and help out. But her niece, Madeleine, flew right by her mother towards the bed, blonde hair flying out in behind her, calling back to her mother,

"Look, Maman, it is the man I told you about, the Musketeer!"


	32. Chapter 32

_Thank you so much for all your reviews! They just really make my day. If I ever figure out how to answer reviews here, I will enjoy doing so. Enjoy the new chapter._

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had left the garrison each day before the sun was even fully out, hoping each day that they would have better luck than the one before. Coming back each evening after the sun had set, weariness in every bone in their bodies, they had found nothing.

They had never felt so low, so sunk in despair. Nothing they had done, nowhere had they looked, had yielded any clue as to where their brother had gone. Had he gone on his own power, or had someone taken him-either to help him or against his will? And what kind of shape was he in after surviving the wreckage they had witnessed? They had no answers to any of their questions, every turn had created another unanswered one.

Athos headed for his room, not even interested in an evening meal, when Aramis could be lying somewhere helpless, needing their help. He still was filled with guilt, having never had the opportunity to tell Aramis how badly he had felt when he had disappeared the first time. He had been so overwhelmed with joy at his brother's recovery, he thought he would give him a few days to just enjoy life again. He had no idea they would be put through this another time. None of them did.

He kept trying to go over events, trying to see if they had missed anything that could help them now. They really had thought the four men they had fought were the only ones who had kidnapped Aramis. But if they were wrong? What then?

Black Wing had clearly been the leader of the band, but the anger and wish for vengeance had probably filled them all equally. Could there have been one or more men they had missed? He didn't know, but was praying there hadn't been.

He hoped with all his heart that the two women's description of the young couple and their burden would turn out to be what had happened. But how could they find one married couple in a city the size of Paris-especially if they had seen the wreckage, and thought they needed to keep Aramis out of sight of whoever had caused his injuries.

He hadn't the same beliefs as Aramis, but as he sat in the silence of his room, he asked Aramis' God to please find him, and find him alive.

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Porthos had`once again headed for Aramis' room. He had needed to be near anything that spoke of his dear friend since they had found the wreckage of the wagon. He wearily sank down to sit on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

They had very nearly been shattered, he and his brothers, when they had brought Aramis back and waited endlessly for him to recover, frozen in fear that he might not. How could they be going through this again, he asked himself?

And where was this young couple that had been seen carrying something large and covered through the streets near the scene of the wreck? He pulled his hat off his head and flung it across the room in his frustration, followed by his bandana. Lying down on the bed, he couldn't close his eyes, any more than he could the previous two nights.

Thoughts raced through his head, as he tried to figure out where they could look tomorrow. There has to be someone who knows something, he thought. Everyone in the garrison had been searching, asking questions. But in a city the size of Paris, it wasn't easy to cover every locale, or speak to every person. It was impossible. But it didn't mean he wasn't going to do his best to get to as many places and people as he could, as would Athos and d'Artagnan. And he knew Treville was worried sick, as well. He just hid it a little better from years of experience leading soldiers.

Unaware of his brother's earlier prayer, Porthos turned to the God Aramis loved so much, too, asking him to please bring their brother back to them alive and well-soon, he added.

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D'Artagnan headed to see Constance after their all-day search, finding her waiting for him. Her husband had gone on a business trip, so for once, she was able to be open in meeting d'Artagnan at the door.

"Any news? she asked, as soon as he came inside. "Anne is beside herself with worry, and I don't have anything new to tell her."

"We haven't found anything, Constance," he said, almost in a whisper. "No one has any concrete evidence, and the only people to see anything, as I told you before, didn't actually see Aramis, just a long covered bundle. We will find him, though. I know we will."

She put her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to hers, laying her cheek against his, knowing he needed the contact for comfort. "You will find him. I know you will," she whispered.

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Madeleine raced across the room to the bed in the corner, leaning over and laying her hand against the injured man's cheek.

"It is him, Maman," she said insistently, turning to speak to her mother, who had followed her.

Marie spoke up, asking, "Madeleine, do you indeed know this man?"

Madeleine's shining eyes turned now to her aunt. "Yes, Tante Marie. Some men asked me to help them play a trick on him, saying he was their friend. But when this man came with me, they hurt him, and tied him up. Then, they made me go away. But I remember his face. This is him."

"Who is he, ma petite Madeleine?" Marie asked, scarcely daring to hope that she would be able to find his family or friends for him. She wanted so badly to help him, and since he wasn't responding to her or her husband, he needed to be with loved ones, and maybe he would get better.

"He is a brave Musketeer, Tante Marie, like his friends," she responded.

"Do you know where they live?" she asked, even though her heart sinking with the realization that a little girl,even one as smart as Madeleine was, couldn't know something like that.

Madeleine's head dropped. She didn't know where they lived. She had never been there. But then, her head popped up again.

"Papa will know! He knows all of Paris," she cried.

Her mother, who had been silent as her eyes filled with sorrow for the young man before her, turned towards the door as she spoke. "I will get Guillaume," and left.

Madeleine stayed on the edge of the bed, having taken Aramis' hand in hers. Her eyes never left his face, Marie noticed. He must have left a very good impression on her young niece, she thought, because her niece didn't usually take to people this quickly.

"We will get your friends for you. They will help to reach you and take away the despair and sadness in your eyes and your heart, she thought to herself.

Madeleine continued to hold Aramis' hand, watching him. Several times, she said softly, "Monsieur, wake up, please, " but he continued to sleep.

Finally, she saw his eyes opening a little while later. She eagerly awaited seeing him awake, but when his eyes were finally open, they looked at nothing. He didn't respond when she spoke to him, just staring straight ahead of him.

Now a little frightened, the little girl turned to her aunt. "Tante Marie, why does he not answer? Why does he just look at nothing? His eyes look so sad."

Marie honestly didn't know how to answer her niece, but as she searched for words that the little girl might somehow understand, she was saved from answering by Guillaume and Jehanne coming through the door.

"Papa!" Madeleine cried, and ran to her father, who scooped her up in her arms.

He had seen her holding the hand of the young man on the bed, whose eyes had once again closed. "Are you learning to be a nurse, Madeleine?" he teased her.

"No, Papa," she said, "it is scary being a nurse. I do not understand why people do such strange things when they are hurt."

Marie hurriedly explained about her patient's lack of recognition when he awoke. "It isn't easy for a young one to understand, or for me to explain it when I don't understand, either."

Guillaume kissed his daughter on the cheek and said, "Are you ready to walk to the Musketeers' garrison with me to let his friends know where he is?"

"Yes, Papa, they were very nice when I saw them before, just like he was," turning to point to the bed. Maybe they can get him to really wake up. Come on!" she said, now enthusiastic, jumping down and catching his hand to lead him out the door.

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Porthos was sitting at the table at the garrison, fiddling with Aramis' pistol. He had been cleaning it after dinner, over and over again. It gave him something to do, and something to hold that belonged to his missing friend. Would they ever see him again, he thought miserably to himself.

Athos had gone up to talk to Treville, to fill him in on their search, the frustratingly empty search. D'Artagnan had gone to his room to wash up a bit. None of them had been able to eat much, picking away at their food and finally giving up.

He heard a sound near the gate and looked up. Looking closer, he saw a well-built, dark-haired young man in brown come through the gate, holding the hand of a little, blonde-haired girl. A blonde-haired little girl who looked very familiar!

Getting up and moving much faster than someone of his size usually did, he headed quickly for the visitors, stopping when he reached them. He was hoping against hope that this young one was bringing information once again about his beloved brother, but he was so scared to ask for fear she was just showing her father where the Musketeers lived.

He stood there silently for a few moments, then said, "Can I help you? Your daughter helped us out a few days ago when our friend was missing."

Madeleine pulled her hand out of her father's and said, "My Tante Marie and Oncle Jacques found your friend, monsieur. He's..."

That was as far as she got before Porthos' eyes went wide, and turning, he yelled excitedly," Athos! D'Artagnan!" loudly enough for the whole garrison to hear. Athos and d'Artagnan both flew out, as well as Treville and a number of Musketeers and cadets at the shout.

Athos and d'Artagnan recognized the girl immediately, and sped across the courtyard to stop before her, scarcely daring to believe she might once again have news for them. It would be too good to be true, but nevertheless, their hearts were beating faster and faster as they waited to hear what she was there for.

Porthos couldn't wait to tell them. "It's Aramis! She says her aunt and uncle found him. The young couple we were told about." Stopping, he stooped down to her, and said, "Please tell us where he is."

She was very excited now, and a little nervous at all the men around her, but she said, "My aunt and uncle were at the vendors, and found a broken wagon. Your friend was there, but he was asleep. They took him back to their house. Monsieurs, he doesn't..."

She stopped, and they waited, hoping she would say she had been about to say was upsetting her. Finally, she said very softly, "He sleeps a lot! But when he wakes up...he...he just stares. He stares at nothing. He doesn't say anything. He looks sooo sad. Then, he falls asleep again. Tante Marie says that's all he's done the whole time," her eyes filling with tears as she finished.

All three Musketeers were worried at the condition she described. Was he all right? They needed to get there as soon as they could!

"Please, can you bring us to him?" Porthos asked her, trying to be as quiet and gentle as he could, so he didn't scare her. He looked up at her father, too, who had been silent while his daughter talked.

"Your friend's condition makes Madeleine scared. She has never seen anyone behave like that before, and she doesn't understand why. We will take you to him, and you can see. Please come!"

They led the way out of the garrison gates, and all three Musketeers were torn emotionally as they followed. They were incredibly joyful that Aramis was alive and being taken care of, but stricken by the description of him the little girl had given them. They wanted to get there as quickly as their feet could carry them to see for themselves.

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It took longer to get back to the house than Madeleine and her father had taken going to the garrison. It was once again market day, and the streets were crowded with vendors' carts and shoppers. They weaved their way as quickly as they could through the crowds, and finally got to Marie and Jacques' small house.

Guillaume went ahead of them to let the family know they were coming. Madeleine, her hand enclosed in Porthos' large one, tugged at it to go faster.

As they came through the door, almost in unison they all said in hushed voices at the sight of their brother-"Aramis!"


	33. Chapter 33

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had just followed Madeleine and Guillaume through the door, when they spied Aramis. Their hushed cry of his name was uttered as they all moved swiftly towards the bed where their brother lay.

Gathering around the bed, which was barely long enough for him, they were all quickly scanning him for injuries, but just a few bruises showed on his face above the blankets covering him. He was either asleep or unconscious, pale and unmoving.

Porthos gently lifted a hand and held it between his own large ones. Athos took his other hand, not seeing any movement that his dear brother knew they were finally there. D'Artagnan, at the head of the bed, ran a hand through Aramis' curls, something they all did to comfort him when he was sick or injured, and he had needed it so much-too much lately.

Marie had moved aside as they had come towards the bed, recognizing the love and worry in their faces. Maybe they would be able to bring him out of whatever state his mind was in, she hoped.

Aramis' still form disturbed the Musketeers. There was no movement at all, despite the fact that all of them were giving him some form of comfort. He usually responded to them then, and the pain in their hearts just increased when nothing happened.

They continued to remain around his bed, waiting.

Marie quietly went about her chores, watching them as they sat beside Aramis. Her house was small and poor, but she kept it immaculate, not a speck of dust present. It was all she and Jacques had, and she took care of it with love.

She and Jacques could not afford a Parisian doctor. She had tried her best to care for the young man, giving him water and wiping his body with clean, cool cloths. She hoped it had been enough, and that he recovered now that his friends, brothers they had called themselves, were here. She had already formed an affection for the poor man, and wished with all her heart for him to be well again.

A little while later, Athos glanced up, and he froze when he saw something lying discarded near the fireplace in the corner. Gently removing his hold on Aramis' hand, he stood and went over to look at it more closely. His expression saddened still more when he confirmed what he thought he had seen.

Lifting it, he turned to his brothers and said, "I believe this is what probably caused him to feel such despair," holding up the object.

Porthos and d'Artagnan's faces registered the dismay that Athos felt when they beheld the muzzle they had once had to pick the lock of to release their brother in the cellar.

"When they forced this ... this ...," he couldn't continue for a moment, anger raging inside of him as he shook the contraption in the force of his emotions. He seldom let anger seep out as it was doing right now. "They forced his mind right back into that cellar where we found him. He probably thought he would never see us again, that the torments would begin all over again. It would hardly be surprising, despite the strength of mind Aramis usually has, that he gave up then," and they could see the tears in his eyes as he finished.

"I cannot even begin to imagine the feelings he must have been going through when they caught him again," Athos continued. "Just when he was beginning to come back to normal and relax. They had to have been watching...", then he stopped, realizing that they had no idea if Aramis could hear what they were saying. Silently, he touched his lips and looked down at Aramis, then to each of his brothers, who instantly understood his gesture.

Sitting back down next to his brother, he again took up the hand he had been holding before, his eyes never leaving Aramis' face. They would just have to wait until he woke up, he thought, and hope their presence would pull him back to them.

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Constance went to visit Anne, happy that she had some good news to tell her.

Anne's somber mood lifted when Constance told her the Musketeers now knew where Aramis was, and had gone to him, but she said, "I just hope he is all right. If the wagon he was in was a wreck, and he was helpless to save himself...", stopping when her tears came again.

"I'm sure he will be all right, Anne," Constance tried to soothe her. But Anne emotions had been down, pulled up, then dashed again, and she wasn't sure what to feel until she heard from his brothers that he was all right. He had to be all right, she assured herself.

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They waited all through the evening and then all night without any movement whatever from Aramis. Marie saw their faces and told them, "This has how he has been since we brought him home from the wreckage. He sleeps almost all the time. When he has awakened, it has only been for a few minutes, but he seems totally unaware of anything around him. It might be a while before he wakes up again."

She hesitated, then said, "I've seen that he has gone through some other trauma before this one. I've seen burns, long scars all over his back, the bruising over his body is mostly faded now but still visible, and something happened to his neck?" she stopped, waiting for one of them to reply to her obvious concern.

Athos, wishing he didn't have to talk about the subject ever again, and hoping Aramis truly couldn't hear his tale, began. "These men who kidnapped him in the wagon have done this before. They took him weeks ago, and we didn't find him for a month. He had been ...," needing to pause to get his emotions, something he was usually very good at concealing, under control again. "They had kept him bound in a cellar, with ... that...," pointing to the muzzle, "on him. Yes, they did burn him, and flogged him. He was beaten over and over, and they must have staged a fake hanging, cutting him down before... before it killed him."

Marie's face revealed her shock and horror of Athos' story.

"We finally found him and brought him back to the garrison. He did not wake up for days, and constantly had nightmares. He was just recovering when ...," here he had to stop again. After a few silent moments, he went on. "Those vermin...animals, took him again! We had taken him to a bakery on only his second attempt to accompany us. I wanted to get him some of the chocolate he loved as a treat. They used Madeleine, a lttle innocent girl, to lure him away." He stopped, not wanting to go on any more as it was too painful to think about.

"Do you have any idea why they did this?" she asked.

"A gang of men was breaking into farmhouses past the outskirts of Paris, raping and killing women quite brutally. We believe the men who hurt Aramis are farmers who had women in their family become victims in these attacks. Somehow, they had heard that the leader of these men was a Musketeer, and that he was a ladies' man, both of which apply to Aramis. Many women in Paris have had a soft spot in their hearts for him. The real leader turned out to be a rogue Musketeer in our own regiment. He was caught and is now dead."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened to these evil men?" Marie asked.

"We killed them," Athos replied shortly. "They will never hurt him again. We saw to that. Now, we wait to see how he is when he awakens," both hope and sadness coloring his speech.

They looked at each other, hoping he would wake up in the morning. They so much needed to see him with some kind of awareness of them.

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In the wee hours of the morning, they still sat silently around their brother, their thoughts silent, as well.

Athos had not let go of Aramis' hand the whole night. His thoughts were once again of guilt. If I had never started hounding him, this never would have happened, he mused in sorrow. He never would have been taken the first time, never tortured, never had such a long time recovering, and never been taken again because they wanted to finish what they had started. It is all my fault.

Who am I to judge, he sorrowfully continued, as he had once before. I, who was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, never had to lift a finger for anything, forgetting that he had despised the life he was born into. I, who fell in love and then gave the order to hang my own wife, again forgetting that his wife may very well have been completely guilty of the crime she had been accused of. I, who drank my sorrows in every tavern in Paris, forgetting that it was a solitary way of condemning himself, one that had never hurt anyone but himself.

He continued. He is the best friend I have ever had: he, Porthos and d'Artagnan. He began to bring me back to myself when he showed up in every tavern I frequented, night after night, trying to save me from myself. If I have become a Musketeer who leads our little troupe of Inseparables, it is because he never gave up on me. He gave of his own time, his own energy, his own heart. He saw something in me that, at the time, I didn't see in myself.

And what have I given him in return? He felt bitter about his shortcoming, as he saw it, even though no one else did. He wanted so much to make it up to his brother, but he was so afraid that it was too late. What if...he couldn't continue for a moment.

What if Aramis' mind had been so damaged this time that he never recovered? Would he end up in one of the infamous asylums of Paris? Over my dead body, he promised himself. But it will not go that far, he told himself. Aramis is strong. He will recover from this, and be stronger than ever because of it. But that little voice kept talking to him-what if he did not? What then? And he had no answers to that.

"I'm so very sorry, Aramis," he whispered to his brother.

Porthos, who had wondered for weeks now about the exchange between his brothers that had sent Aramis out into the street the last time he had been seen before his kidnapping, looked up sharply at Athos now. "What are you sorry..."he began, only to stop as he saw the look that had just come upon Athos' face.

As he had said he was sorry, Athos felt a slight pressure on the hand he was holding. His eyes moved swiftly to his brother's face, and his heart nearly stopped.

Aramis' eyes were slowly opening.


	34. Chapter 34

"Aramis!" Out of a dense fog, he heard voices calling, as if from a great distance away. He blinked, looking at nothing. He hadn't heard voices of any kind for so long.

It sounded like Porthos. But that was impossible. Porthos wouldn't be where he himself was. He was dead. Where am I? Aramis asked himself. Did I make it to heaven, or was this the other place? He missed his brothers so badly, but didn't wish them to die to join him. They deserved better than that.

In all his imaginings of heaven and hell, this was not remotely like anything he had ever seen. He seemed to be living now in a sort-of pea soup, not able to move or speak. He vaguely remembered being incredibly helpless as the wagon he had held in had swerved and violently crashed. After that, he didn't know what happened. But he knew he was dead. No one could have survived what he had been through.

He didn't realize that the afterlife was just the white space he was in now. This had to be hell. No one would wish to be here, as he had wished for heaven when he died. There was no one here, just this void.

Porthos' voice was his imagination speaking, wanting so desperately to be with his brothers, at least to have been able to say farewell. They had to be shattered emotionally, as he himself would be if something had happened to one of them.

Would he be like this for all eternity, he questioned? He couldn't bear it if this was to be all it was. He felt he must be in hell or purgatory, paying for all the sins he had committed while he had been alive. He knew he hadn't been the best that he could be, but was this eternal punishment? He had no idea.

He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, as he was overcome by the pain he was in. I'm lost forever, he thought, wandering in this fog.

Then, he heard another voice. "Aramis!" Athos?

Did all of his brothers die in some way after him? That couldn't be! And they wouldn't be where he was now. They were such good men, always fighting for justice and right. Why would they come here?

"Aramis! Please wake up. You have us so worried." Porthos' voice again, and another voice chimed in, too, "Aramis, we need you. Please, open your eyes for us."

D'Artagnan? They couldn't all be dead, could they? All dead, and lying here with him in this strange place?

Then, "Aramis, if you don't wake up right now, when we get you back to the garrison, I'm gonna eat every meal Serge makes for you, including those apple tarts!" Porthos' voice again, angry-sounding, but at the same time sounding terrified.

He struggled. His eyes didn't want to open. His first attempt failed miserably.

He tried again, slitting them open marginally.

"He's opening his eyes! Come on, Aramis, you can do it all the way," Porthos said, sounding very excited.

When his eyes were open further, he saw three very worried, yet hopeful faces looking down at him. His eyes traveled from one of them to the next, in wonder. He tried to speak, but he was so dry, nothing came out.

D'Artagnan left and came back with a cup of water, handing it to Athos. Porthos gently lifted his brother up so that Athos could trickle a little water in. At first, it spilled down the side of Aramis' mouth. The next time, though, he was able to take a few sips. When Porthos took the cup away, something that sounded very like a frustrated moan came from Aramis' lips.

Athos said, "That is what you do to us when we are ill or injured. You always say it's because if we take too much in when we have been deprived, it will just come back up again," finishing with a raised eyebrow. Aramis just looked at him.

After a moment, he tried speaking again. "You're not dead and in hell with me" causing all three of them's eyebrows to lift nearly to their hairlines at the comment.

"Aramis, why would you think we were all in hell?"

Aramis looked terribly confused. Speaking in a barely audible voice, he said, "I...I thought...I was dead. When I heard your voices, I couldn't believe ..."

"What couldn't you believe, Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"I couldn't believe you would all...be in hell with me," he finished, looking down.

"And why would you believe you would be in hell, and we wouldn't?" Athos asked.

"My sins. I...have so many of them," Aramis said.

"And we do not, Aramis?" Athos gently asked.

Aramis was very quiet for a few moments. Then, continuing in a soft voice, he said, "You are all ... really here? I'm not dreaming?"

For an answer, Athos lifted one of Aramis' hands up to gently give the back of it a kiss. Porthos squeezed the other one, and d'Artagnan ruffled his curly mop of hair. They were watching him closely, and saw exactly when the tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. He was truly back with them!

Aramis was nearly sobbing now, his eyes switching from one face to the other, as if he couldn't get enough of seeing his brothers. And then, he saw another face in the background. Athos saw his eye movement, and said, "Aramis, we need to introduce you to this lovely young woman. It was she and her husband who found you, and have been taking care of you all this time. Marie, please come here."

Marie, who had been watching everything and thanking God her patient was becoming himself again, slowly came forward. She didn't really want to become the center of attention. She wanted her patient-they had called him Aramis-to enjoy being with his friends after being so alone in his head for so long. But she came when Athos continued to insist.

Athos took her by the hand, and turned back to his brother, saying, "Aramis, this is Marie. She and her husband, Jacques, found the wagon destroyed in an alleyway. The box they had locked you into had broken open, and you were lying half in and half out of it unconscious. Her husband carried you here to their house, and she has nursed you ever since."

Aramis let go of Athos' hand, and slowly reached out to grasp Marie's. His body didn't have much movement yet, but he was able to squeeze her hand. "Thank you for my life," he said simply.

Marie blushed at his words, gazing into his eyes. Porthos and d'Artagnan looked at each other as if to say 'even barely back conscious and flat on his back, and he still makes women blush'!

Athos said to her, "I hope I am not making too much work for you, but might you have a little soup or broth our brother could try eating? You had said he has not had anything to eat since he has been with you?"

Marie nodded her head, saying, "Of course. I have a whole pot on the fire for when my husband comes back from work. I will get a bowl for you," hurrying to the fireplace.

Aramis' still scratchy voice asked, "How long?"

Porthos answered, saying, "Three very long days and part of today. We've been tearing Paris apart trying to find you."

"Did you get..."

"Yes, Aramis, we did. They are all dead now. They cannot ever hurt you or anyone else again," Athos told him.

"Athos is being modest, Aramis," Porthos intervened. "He ran Black Wing through in the middle of a tavern with a cheering crowd!"

"Porthos!" Athos remonstrated, but with a smile.

Quietly, Aramis said, "Thank you. My nightmare is over then?"

"Finally," Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan almost simultaneously breathed the word.

"I don't even know if I reinjured myself when they..." stopping at the memory.

"We do not think so, Aramis. Marie said only that you sustained a bump on the back of your head, and saw only some bruises on your torso. We do not know how you were able to come away without major injuries, but we are very thankful. You do not know what it did to us when we saw the extent of the wreckage, and knew you had been in the wagon."

Aramis eyes were starting to droop in weariness, but he fought it off, afraid of being lost in the fog again. But his eyes, despite his efforts, kept insisting on closing again.

But Athos, seeing how exhausted Aramis was even from the little time he had been awake, suspected that his friend's bump on the head had resulted in a concussion. Knowing he needed the rest he was now denying himself, he said, "Now, rest a bit, and then you can eat as much as you are able, brother." He had barely finished his sentence when Aramis' eyes closed in sleep.

Turning to Marie, Athos said, "We will have to wait a little while to feed him, it seems."

Porthos said with a fond smile while looking down at his brother, "He's just plain tuckered out, isn't he?" chuckling as he said it.

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Athos turned to d'Artagnan, and asked him, "I know how much we all want to be with Aramis now, but would you mind going to let Treville know? He is going to wonder what happened to us otherwise."

Nodding his head, d'Artagnan left, heading for the garrison.

Heading up to the office once he came through the gates, he burst throught the door enthusiastically, saying, "We found him, Captain," startling Treville, who had been engrossed in finishing some important paperwork for Louis.

Hearing these words drove the 'important' paperwork from his mind immediately as he asked," You found Aramis? Where is he? How is he?"

D'Artagnan filled him in on what had been happening, including the demise of 'the farmers'.

"So, there is finally an end of their reign of terror. I can't say anyone will probably miss them. Where is Aramis?"

When d'Artagnan told him the location, Treville murmured, "So, we did have two reliable witnesses. Lead me back to him, d'Artagnan. I need to see my best marksman, and finally out of danger," putting his hat on as he spoke.

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When Aramis next awoke, his head felt fuzzy. Panicking, he started to frantically look around, desperately afraid that what had happened when he awakened the other time had indeed been all a dream. Then, he saw a two pairs of very familiar smiling looking back at him.

"So I wasn't dreaming? I was so afraid to go to sleep for fear it was still all my imagination," Aramis said, speaking so softly they had to lean in to hear what he was saying.

"No, Aramis, we are really here, and we will be here each time you wake until you are well," Athos replied. "Are you hungry, mon ami?"

Aramis' smile gave them all the reply they needed. Porthos gathered his brother's upper body into his lap, leaning his brother's head against his own chest. Porthos could feel Aramis' body relax, as Athos took up the bowl of chicken soup and a spoon.

He finished over half the bowl before nearly falling asleep and planting his face in the bowl. His brothers just smiled fondly at him, laying him down once more to rest peacefully. Then, they looked at each other and just beamed.

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Aramis didn't sleep very long this time. When he awoke again, the first person he saw was Treville. "Captain?"

"It is very good to see you, Aramis. I am so glad we have found you. How do you feel?"

"Just fi..."

Porthos finished for him. "He has a concussion, and needs plenty of rest, Captain. He also needs to eat the soup Marie has ready for him, as he hasn't eaten in over three days."

When Aramis pointedly looked at him, Porthos continued. "He WILL be fine, once he recovers, won't you, Aramis?"

Aramis, knowing when he was defeated, just shrugged. Porthos continued, with a grin, "I knew you would agree," causing Aramis to have a look on his face that just widened that grin.

The Musketeers moved off the bed as Marie approached with the bowl of delicious-smelling soup, allowing her to sit at Aramis' side to feed him, while they ringed the bed standing up, for all the world like a little guard of honor.

 _ **I hope you enjoyed the reunion! We are almost at the end of this story. I think there will be only one more chapter, or at the most, two. Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, etc. They always encourage me in my writing!**_


	35. Chapter 35

Aramis had no sooner finished his soup than the door started to open, and Madeleine bounced into the room. Seeing Aramis awake, she raced across the room towards him, blonde hair flying out behind her.

Porthos, a little nervous of her possibly bouncing up on the bed when Aramis still hadn't recovered completely from his concussion, he gently caught her around the waist and stopped her.

"I think Aramis is very glad to see you, am I right, mon ami?" he asked his brother.

Aramis reached out his hand a little way, and Madeleine immediately grabbed hold of it. "You're getting better!" she said with a big smile. He smiled back, and squeezed her hand gently in reply.

Porthos said, "And we have you to thank that we are finally all together again. I ... we want to thank you, Madeleine. Your papa took you away so fast when we arrived, we didn't have a chance." Seeing her father had come into the room behind her, Porthos amended his words, saying, "Your papa needed to get you home because you were so worn out from the excitement, right?" he asked, looking at her father again.

Guillaume nodded his head. He wasn't much of a talker, and stayed in the background,content to let his little daughter do all the speaking for the moment.

Madeleine started to ask, "Why couldn't you ta...", but Athos headed her off, saying to her, "You can talk more to him later, Madeleine. We put something in his soup that is going to make him fall asleep rather quickly." She was just a little girl and naturally curious, wondering why he just lay and stared at nothing when she had been there before. But they didn't want to upset Aramis with anything right now.

Aramis was already becoming drowsy, his eyelids drooping as he smiled at the little girl. Porthos took away the bowl and spoon, then gently guided the little girl to a seat, so she could sit beside Aramis for a little while. She smiled up at him, then her gaze returned to the now sleeping Aramis, as if she was a little afraid he might return to the unresponsive man whose behavior had so frightened her before.

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Treville came through the door a little later, after Madeleine and her father had departed. He was barely inside before he said, "How is he?"

They filled him in, and Treville's taut shoulders relaxed. He was more worried than he had let on about his marksman, and hearing their account finally allowed him to have some peace of mind.

He said, "I have some news," looking down at the slumbering Aramis. Leading Athos and d'Artagnan to the other side of the room, leaving Porthos, who wasn't about to leave Aramis' side at this stage, and they all sat down. Athos and d'Artagnan looked curiously at the Captain, wondering what news he brought.

"The farmers who attacked Aramis were dishonorably discharged from the army," he began, not really shocking his men. "I don't know how they obtained the land given to soldiers who performed honorably. We will get to the bottom of that. Suffice it to say, they had records of brutality both against the enemy and within the army camps. They would pick fights over card games, verbal disagreements, and other things. They killed two soldiers because the men turned them in for being absent one night when they wanted to go into town for some "action", as they called it.

The leader called Black Wing had a vicious temper and had been highly trained in weaponry, so that made him a natural leader for the others. We will look into whether any of the other soldiers who obtained land did so rightfully. For now, I can just say I am very glad this ended with Aramis returned to us. Considering who we were up against, it could have turned out far worse," looking over at his sleeping marksman with a fond smile.

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While the others took advantage of their brother's slumber to eat a simple but delicious meal that Marie had made for them, all but Porthos. He wouldn't leave Aramis' side, as each time he had awakened, he looked immediately for his brothers in a slight panic. Porthos wanted to be with him if he woke up to prevent that.

Sure enough, only a half hour or so after he had fallen asleep, Aramis awoke. Right away, his eyes looked for his brothers, and he found Porthos smiling back at him. His whole body relaxed.

"You can't get rid of us that easily, mon ami," Porthos teased him.

Aramis felt a little foolish now, his eyes downcast.

"I'm a grown man, Porthos," he sadly answered. "I can't be afraid every time I wake up that you won't be with me. I'm a Musketeer. I have never before had fear like this. When will it go away?" he asked plaintively.

"Aramis, I doubt if anyone has gone through the traumas you have, not once but twice now. It's natural for you to be a little nervous that we won't be here. But I tell you now, we aren't going to be far from your side for a while, til you are back up to strength. You won't be able to shake us off, you know," with a small grin at his brother.

"None of us, Aramis," Athos added. He and d'Artagnan had left their dinner as soon as they heard Aramis' voice.

"But I don't want you to have to nursemaid me like this," Aramis went on.

"Aramis, how many times have you nursemaided us in the past few years-through illnesses, gunshot wounds, and other things. We enjoy returning the favor, and it is absolutely no trouble at all, brother."

There really wasn't anything Aramis could say to that. He just lay there, feeling blessed to have these men as his brothers in his life.

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Athos felt like he needed to finally speak to Aramis with what he had kept bottled up inside for so long. So, when Aramis woke next morning and while d'Artagnan and Porthos went to get some supplies, he sat down next to Aramis on the bed and took his hand.

Aramis saw the look on his brother's face, and concerned, asked him," What is wrong, Athos?"

Athos took a deep breath, and spoke. "Aramis, I wanted to wait until you were stronger before saying this. I...I..." he stopped, and Aramis became worried.

"What is it?" he asked, beginning to get a little worried.

"Aramis, I need to apologize to you. I am the reason you first walked unaware into the danger lurking for you. I am so sorry."

Aramis told him, "You have nothing to apologize for, Athos."

But Athos went on, "If I hadn't upset you so much coming down on you all the time about your relationship with the Queen, you would not have been so distracted on the night you were kidnapped. You have always had such an innate sense of danger. It has saved each one of us many times during missions. But my words caused you such emotional turmoil that you were unaware of the danger lurking when you left the garrison that night. It was my fault."

Aramis looked at his brother with so much love at his painful revelation. "Athos, the only reason you kept talking with me about the subject was out of love for me. I know that. You knew, as I do, that if Louis, Rochefort, or anyone else with an agenda against the Musketeers found out, my life could be forfeit. Your words were meant to shield me from harm. Everything we do for each other is out of love. Please don't feel responsible, mon ami, as I don't feel you are. And always feel free to speak to me on any subject. It is always welcome and accepted, whether we agree on the subject matter or not. We're brothers of the heart," squeezing the hand Athos still held within his.

Athos let out the deep breath he hadn't even known he was holding until that moment, feeling the weight in his heart lifting at his brother's words.

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Aramis kept on progressing in healing, and a couple of days later, they finally felt he was over the concussion. Everything else seemed to be almost healed, only bruising still marring his skin.

He had huge gaps in his memory regarding what had been done to him, and may always have them. But his brothers actually were happier if he didn't remember everything he had been through while he was a captive, as they didn't want him to suffer in his memories.

As usual in the times he was bedridden, once he felt like he was healing, Aramis turned into the worst patient-even worse than any of them, and they knew they were bad.

A day later, he finally began awakening without frantically looking for one of them in the room. Now, when he awoke, the first thing he did was ask when they could finally go home, always disappointed when he was told not yet.

They needed to see if he could handle even being upright again, after so long in a prone position. So several times a day, they assisted him onto his feet. After a few tries, they walked him around the room. He tired easily, but that was to be expected. They were very pleased at his progress. Their Aramis was slowly but surely coming back to himself.

Of course, every time they finished his exercise, his question was the same. When would they be heading back home to the garrison, and he showed such disappoint when Athos said 'not yet, Aramis'.

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Then came the day that Athos said yes to Aramis' pleas, and Aramis was like a little boy in his happiness to be finally going home.

All three of them helped out in dressing him, whether he said he was "fine" or not. They knew Aramis, and ever since he began to feel better, all his old habits came back, including denying he was still sore. They just ignored him and helped anyway.

When Aramis was on his feet and ready to go, they each took their leave of Marie, Jacques and Madeleine, with Aramis coming last while the other three waited.

Taking Marie's hand, he deposited a soft kiss to the back of it, saying, "I don't know how to thank you properly," including Jacques and Madeleine in these words, as he looked from one to the other of them in profound gratitude. "Without what you've done, I wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't even be alive to thank you from the bottom of my heart for my life, which you have returned to me."

Marie blushed at the hand kiss, not knowing what to say. Jacques said, "It was our pleasure and our duty as Christians, as well, Aramis. Go with God, monsieur," shaking his hand.

Aramis, with a little difficulty, bent to kiss Madeleine's hand, too. She had tears in her eyes, and seeing them, Aramis said, "Would you come visit me-us in the garrison, Madeleine? We could come get you, or your father or mother could bring you. We could show you the horses, and give you a little tour of where we live. Would you like that?"

Madeleine enthusiastically bobbed her head with a huge grin splitting her face from ear to ear. Aramis gave her a careful hug, befor turning to the door and his waiting brothers, who were grinning nearly as broadly as little Madeleine was.

Once they had passed through and closed the door, Aramis stopped. His brothers looked at him with a question in their eyes. He was silent for a few moments. Then, he spoke quietly, his eyes moving from one to another of his beloved brothers.

"I've thanked Marie, Jacques, Madeleine, and sincerely. I'm so grateful for what they did for me. But..." here he hesitated again.

"What is it, Aramis?" Porthos asked, now a little worried at what seemed to be disturbing his brother.

"I have never properly thanked you," he said. "Both times I disappeared, you never gave up searching, never gave up hoping you would find me. I owe you my life more than anyone. I..."

But they didn't let him get any further. He was gently enveloped in a bear hug from Porthos, followed by Athos, then d'Artagnan. Porthos ruffled his brother's hair, saying, "You don't need to tell us that, Aramis. We would never give up on our brother."

They were all a little teary-eyed now. It was a highly emotional moment.

Athos spoke up, saying, "Aramis, when you were missing, it was like a piece of our hearts was gone, as well. Without you, we aren't complete. We love you, as you love us. It would have been the same for you if one of us was missing. We will never give up on each other." Aramis just smiled, and his eyes spoke clearly with the love he had for them, too.

Aramis insisted he was well enough to ride on his own, and maybe he was. But Porthos insisted on his riding with him back to the garrison. Aramis grumbled, but then sagged against his brother once they were in the saddle, being worn out from not having been on his feet for so long. Porthos refrained from saying 'I told you so'.

As they finally came through the gates of the garrison, Aramis heaved a great sigh of relief. Home again, he thought to himself. I'm home.

Fin.


End file.
